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I 




A FOREST RANGER 



THE FOREST RANGER 

AND OTHER VERSE 

COLLECTED & EDITED BY 

JOHN D. GUTHRIE 

Captain^ Engineers, U. S. Reserve; 

formerly Forest Supervisor {on furUugk), 

U. S, Forest Service 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1919, by John D. Guthrik 



All Rights Reserved 



Made in the United States of America 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A. 

m \ ^ ^^^^ 

©CI.A525814 



DEDICATED TO 

G. P. 

A FIGHTER FOR THE CAUSE 
OF 

CONSERVATION 



THE MEN WHO WROTE THE VERSES 

MiLFORD, Pike G)., Pa., 

August 7, 19 1 7. 
Mr. Jno. D. Guthrie, Flagstaff, Ariz, 

Dear Guthrie: I have read every word of 
your collection of verses of the Forest Service, all 
of it with keen interest, much of it with deep sym- 
pathy and real delight. You have put me, with 
every other Forest Service man, deeply in your debt. 
Nothing in years has so brought back to me the 
spirit of the old days, and nothing has confirmed in 
me so clearly the belief — long held — that the 
Service now is the same as it was when I knew it by 
daily contact. 

For half a generation I have been convinced that 
no body of men in our Government service, and that 
means in any Government service in the world, has 
so high a standard of efficiency and such fine and 
generous devotion to duty as the United States For- 
est Service, or is rendering in proportion to its num- 
bers so extensive and valuable public service. 

Our people generally know that the Forest Service 
is clean and able, and can be trusted, but they have 
no conception of what it has passed through to reach 
its present well-earned place. Naturally, they do 
not realize the difficulties and responsibilities of the 
individual forest officer in his daily work. But the 
men who wrote these verses know, and I know too. 
You have made a real contribution to the safety and 
success of Forestry in America by publishing this 
book, for you have given the general reader a chance 
to understand something of what the work actually 
5 



The Men fFha Wrote the Verses 

means to the men who are doing it on the National 
Forests. 

American Foresters generally, and the men of the 
Service in particular, have always been willing to 
tackle any job, to make any personal sacrifice for 
the good of the work, and they have always had the 
forester's long look ahead. They have seen the 
great end from the small beginning, and have done 
cheerfully the hardest kind of hard work, have exer- 
cised the most trying patience, have hung on with 
the grimmest determination, often for a distant re- 
sult, the full flower of which they can not hope to 
live to see. 

You yourself and many of the other men of the 
Forest Service are going into the War. Thereby 
you will change your uniform but not the spirit of 
your work. You were giving your lives to the Na- 
tion before, and you are doing the same thing now. 
I wish it could be my good fortune to be with you 
now as I was in the times gone by. Good luck go 
with you. 

I was proud of the men of the Service when I be- 
longed to it, and I am as proud of them today. 
There is no finer body of men alive. C. C. Hall ex- 
presses my sentiments exactly in the verses " To My 
Old Comrades," when he says: 

" They say that Heaven is a beautiful place 
With rest, sweet songs, peace and joys 
But the thing that would suit me down to the ground 
Is — charge of God's Forests, and for Rangers — these 
boys." 

Sincerely yours, 

GiFFORD PiNCHOT. 
6 



CONTENTS 



The Forest Ranger 19 

Fred G. Plummer 
The Government's Handy Man . . .21 

Arthur Chapman 
The Call 22 

Scott Leavitt 
The Easterner 24 

Jack Welch 
The Fool and Our Forest Dollars . . 26 

£. T. Allen 
An Office Detail 27 

James H. Sizer 
I've Been Working on the Survey . . 29 

When the Ranger's Feet Get Cold . . 30 

A. R. Ivey 
The Forest Clerk 32 

Rita A. Castle 
The Forest Assistant's Compromise . . 34 

R. F. Feagans 
The Florida Ranger 36 

/. F. Eldredge 
The Fire Bug and the East Wind . .37 

£. T. Allen 

The Ranger 39 

7 



Contents 

PAGE 

Forest Fires 41 

/. D. G. 
Promotion 43 

James H. Sizer 

The Forestry Student 44 

The Mystery 45 

Aldo Leopold 
A Ranger to His Brother at the U . . 47 

James H, Bonner 
The Gila Ranger's Song 49 

Jack Case 
The Night Trail 50 

Scott Leavitt 
Only a Little Tree-Button .... 52 

Constance Mainwaring 
Resolutions of a Ranger 53 

Aldo Leopold 

A Ranger's Day 55 

Skidoo Skis 56 

James H. Sizer 
A Ranger's Working Plan 57 

/. D. G, 
The Forester's Lament 58 

R. W. Ayres 
A Ranger's Joys 60 

A. R. Ivey 

The Forest Fire Fighters 62 

Arthur Chapman 

The Ranger on the Tahob 6g 

A. R, Ivey 
8 



Contents 



PAGE 

The Cry of the Survey Crew .... 65 
Spare Time 66 

Aldo Leopold 
The Ranger's Life 68 

Arthur Chapman 
A Bug-Land Lullaby 69 

H. R. Mullen 
The Hobo Ranger 71 

Norman K. Olmstead 
Sun River Pass 73 

Scott Leavitt 
A Ranger's New Year's Resolutions . . 76 

H. R. Batter ton 
Circular One-Four-Nine-Seven ... 78 

William E. Harris 
The Tourist and the Ranger ... 80 

Aldo Leopold 
The Hegira 82 

Will C. Barnes 

A Forest Inspection Hymn 84 

This Job 86 

Wireless Bill 87 

James H, Sizer 
The Busy Ranger 91 

7. D, G. 

Quitting Time 93 

A Ranger's Thanksgiving Hymn ... 94 
The Fire Fool 95 

A. G. Jackson 
9 



Contents 



PAGE 

The Forest Loafer 96 

Fred G. Plummer 

Reconnaissance 98 

W. P. Laws on 
On Changing the Name of Hellgate . 100 

P. S. Lovejoy 
The New Forest Assistant loi 

Jack Welch 

Cercocarpus 103 

Gordon T. Backus 

The Little Still 104 

Douglas Rodman 

BiLTMORE Forest School 105 

James H. Sizer 

The Ranger Meeting 106 

A. R. Ivey 

Grief 108 

Mary B. Sizer 

The Song of the Ohmlette .... 109 
Gordon T. Backus 

If Ill 

Harris A, Reynolds 

Forest Ranger*s Song 112 

W. P. Lawson 
The Prodigal 114 

Jack Welch 
The Busy Season 116 

J Ida Leopold 
10 



Contents 



PAGE 

When Winter Comes Around . . . .117 

A. R. Ivey 
Recreation 119 

James H. Sizer 
To My Old Comrades 122 

C. C. Hall 

A Pipe Dream 124 

Spring has Comb 125 

The Diary and the Reflection . . .127 

/. A. Lars en 
On the Gunnison 129 

H. L. Thackwell 
Leap Year at a Ranger Station . . .131 

/. F, Forsythe 
Remember the Alamo . . . . . .132 

C, C, Hall 
The Hook 133 

/. F. Eldredge 
The Spasm from the Shasta .... 134 

A Quiver from the Tahoe 136 

A Musing from the Angeles . . . .138 
The Branding of the Forests . . . .140 

Will C, Barnes 
Ranger Song for the North Sierra Re- 
serve 143 

Charles H. Shinn 
The Fire Guard on Patrol 145 

/. D. G. 
Economy 147 

Charles H. Jennings 
II 



Contents 

rAOB 

Fires i49 

Brisiow Adams 

The Apache Recessional 152 

/. D. G. 
A Rolling Stone 153 

Harry Lawson 
Klamath Bug Song i55 

S. W. Allen 
Receipt for a Ranger 157 

J . B. Cammann 

Four Cents to the Lick 158 

P. S. Love joy 

His Wisdom 160 

Howard C. Kegley 

Planting Rhymes 161 

The Fellow that Dropt the Match . .162 

The Forest Pleaders 163 

E. T. Allen 

Prospectin' 165 

/. R. Simmons 
Extract from an Old-Time Diary of an 

Old-Time Forest Ranger 166 

James H. Sizer 

A Forest Symposium 168 

The Prelude 168 

The Suping Supervisor 168 

The Desking Districter 170 

The Rangy Ranger 171 

The Woman Side 172 

The Last Word 174 

12 



EDITOR'S NOTE 

The verses in this volume have been in process of 
collection by the writer during the past fifteen years. 
Most of them appeared originally in the pages of 
forest news letters issued on the different National 
Forests. Poetical or literary merit is claimed only 
for a few, but the claim is made that they reflect the 
daily life and work of the Forest Ranger on the 
National Forests of the West. Some are frankly 
parodies; some are merely rhymes and jingles; some 
few are songs, sung by Rangers at their occasional 
meetings or perhaps hummed around a lonely camp 
fire by the side of some Forest trail, in the dense fir 
timber of the Pacific Northwest or the open pine 
forest of Florida. 

The labor of collecting and editing has been one 
entirely of pleasure, and the little book is sent out 
with no literary aspirations whatever but only with 
the desire to bring together and put on record these 
expressions of the spirit of the men who have heard 
the call of the forest and of distant places, and in 
the hope that they may bring back pleasant memories 
of many a forest camp or meeting. Perhaps they 
may be the forerunner of a collection of folk songs 
of American foresters and forest workers. 

Occasionally the editor has taken the liberty of 
13 



Editors Note 



making minor changes from the originals ; he has en- 
deavored always to retain the spirit back of the 
words. The authors of many of the verses were 
not known and thus previous permission to include 
these could not be obtained. To these unknown 
authors, perhaps Rangers in some far away moun- 
tain cabin, the writer extends his thanks. He would 
appreciate being informed of the authorship of those 
verses which appear as anonymous. 

To the many who have responded so splendidly 
to the request for copies of verses contained in the 
issue of the Forest Quarterly especial thanks are 
extended. The volume here presented includes less 
than one-half of the total number collected and only 
the ones believed by the writer *to reflect most truly 
the Forest Ranger's life and work have been in- 
cluded; many that were received were of too per- 
sonal a nature or possessed a superabundance of local 
color to be of general interest to foresters and Forest 
officers. 

Especial thanks are due to the following indi- 
viduals and publications for permission to include 
certain of the verses : 

Mr. Arthur Chapman, the Western poet, for 
"The Government's Handy Man," "The Forest 
Fire Fighters," and " The Ranger's Life," origin- 
ally appearing in the columns of the Denver Repub- 
lican; Mr. E. T. Allen, for " The Fool and Our 
Forest Dollars," "The Fire Bug and the East 
Wind," and "The Forest Pleaders"; the Uni- 
versity of California Journal of Agriculture, for 
"The Ranger"; The Independent, for "Forest 
14 



Editors Note 



Ranger's Song," by W. P. Lawson, originally ap- 
pearing in Harper s Weekly; American Forestry for 
" The Hegira," " The Branding of the Forests," 
" If," " The Fire Fool," " The New Forest Assist- 
ant," " The Prodigal," " The Easterner," " Fires," 
" The Fire Guard on Patrol," " Receipt for a Ran- 
ger," and " His Wisdom." 

John D. Guthrie. 
Flagstaff, Arizona, 
June 15, 191 7. 



15 



THE FOREST RANGER 



THE FOREST RANGER 

The Forest Ranger's mottoes stand, 

** Create, protect, restore," 
To help home builders with the land 
And bring content on every hand. 

Now and forevermore. 

Seedtime and harvest he computes. 

And from her plenteous store 
Summons Dame Nature's attributes 
To make two saplings shoot their shoots 
Where one shot heretofore. 

He stops the fires that send their floods 

Which tears the valley floor. 
And ruin the farmer's corn and spuds. 
So that two cows may chew their cuds, 
Where one could heretofore. 

Where only sage and cacti grew, 

With ditch and reservoir. 
Fed from the mount's protected snow, 
He sees two drops of water flow, 

Where one flew heretofore. 

And as the fruit of his master hand 

And knowledge of forest lore, 
Bearing the stockman's glaring brand, 
We see a team of horses stand 
Where one stood heretofore. 
19 



The Forest Ranger 



So here's to the Ranger's fireside; 

May his tribe increase galore, 
And may ten forest rangers ride 
On road, on trail or steep divide, 

Where one rode heretofore. 

— Fred G» Plummer 



20 



The Forest Ranger 



THE GOVERNMENT'S HANDY MAN 

Your Uncle Sam he says to me, " I want a man to 
ride, 
To pack a horse, and shoot a few, and sleep out- 
doors besides ; " 
So I signed with him as a ranger bold, to ride the 
forests free. 
But lord ! you ought to see the stunts your Uncle 
Sam gave me ! 

It's law in the morning, science at night. 
Study all day, and figger and write ; 

He gets high-browed work on a high-browed plan, 
Does the Government's handy man. 

I've broke my jaw on science names for every tree 
and bark; 
I've got to know fine points in law, jest like a 
Blackstone shark; 
I've got to pick out min'ral land, same as a wise 
M. E.; 
And this here ranger job ain't jest what it's 
cracked up to be. 

It's readin* the Manual early and late, 

Rules by the hundred — get 'em all straight. 
He'd ruther punch cows, but he does what he can, 
Does the Government's handy man. 

— Arthur Chapman 
21 



The Forest Ranger 



THE CALL 

And have you heard the Call where world-old 
silence broods — 

And have you heard the Voice that speaks from soli- 
tudes ? 

We who alone are wont to ride 
Among the pines at eventide, 
And climb to where some jutting crest 
Gigantic looks toward the west, 
There at the sunset hour to seek 
O'er wide-flung realms of crag and peak 
And canyons, black with mystery — 
Gold islands in a shadow sea 
Where silent tides of purple shade 
Engulf red shores that glow and fade — 
Ah, we have heard the Voice that calls. 

That magic Voice which has no sound : 
From out the dusking night it falls. 
From canyon's depth and granite walls, 
And awe has compassed us around. 

And lone the trails we ride that run 

Where canyon shades shut out the sun: 

Rock-gated is the op'ning pass 

Whence bursts the mountain's awesome mass, 

Where, far above the proudest height, 

A searching eagle hangs in flight 

And, ever soaring, wheeling, throws 

22 



The Forest Ranger 



A circling shadow on the snows : 
And darkling is the forest shade 
When camp by dusky stream is made — 
Ah, then the hobbles' clank we hear, 

When packs are off, and saddles thrown, 
And, breathing round the campfire's cheer, 
Again the silent Voice draws near — 
The Mountains, calling to their own ! 

And we have gone where birches stand 

Like white-robed Naiads, hand in hand. 

Round hidden lakes where, trembling, lies 

The Secret of the Centuries, 

And seems to wait but time and chance 

To burst in magic utterance: 

The lake gives back the fading sky: 

Long shadows on the waters lie : 

The pine crests last with gold are kissed : 

The air is dark'ning amethyst — 

Ah, now again from shore and lake 
The magic, yearning Call is heard : 

Within our depths we feel it make 

Such echoes as in souls awake 

That understand, and need no word. 

And you have heard the Call where world-old si- 
lence broods — 

And you have heard the Voice that speaks from soli- 
tudes. 

— Scott Leavitt 



23 



The Forest Ranger 



THE EASTERNER 

I was a ranger on the Bow ^ 

In the Service's early days, 
With a scalin' stick, and an army Colt, 

And a nerve you couldn't feaze; 
A veteran of the cattle-war 

And the Leadville riot row, 
With a keen contempt for the Easterner, 

The pin-head, town-bred Easterner, 
Who called a steer a " ceow." 

I knew the kinks of a ranger's job 

From A to the letter Z, 
Fire patrol in the Snowy Range 

To side camp cookery. 
Slingin' my tarp when the sun went down 

In the Rockies' fenceless campin' ground; 
None of the Eastern college kids 

Could show a thing to me. 

His tables of yield and growth per cent 

Would make a cayuse smile ; 
To see him throwin' the diamond hitch 

Would pay you to hike a mile. 
He came with a thin-skinned silken tent. 

His grammar was certainly excellent; 
But grammar don't count for a copper cent 

When savy and sand's at trial. 

1 Medicine Bow, National Forctt. 
24 



The Forest Ranger 



So first we tormented him, then ignored, 

I guess his life was Hell; 
The pace we led the assistant man 

Wouldn't be good to tell. 
But as the years are speedin' on 

And the seasons come and go. 
We're comin' to see that the Easterner, 

The quick-brained, school-trained Eastern^*, 
Is a pretty good man to know. 

We've camped and smoked and rode and joked 

And run out lines together, 
When the misty mountains loomed up cold 

In the Bow's October weather. 
We fought the fires of Nineteen ten 

( Fought and ran, and fought again. 
Sectional lines were forgotten then) 

That made us pards forever. 

Now we feel he's one of us. 

And forget his Eastern birth, 
We find he knows some things we don\ 

About this planet Earth. 
So we listen while he tells us, 

And he listens in return; 
For each can teach the other 

Some useful things to learn. 

--Jack Welch 



25 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FOOL AND OUR FOREST DOLLARS 

Goodby to the fool with the empty gun ; 
Forgotten his bid for fame. 
Though he kills his friend, it only counts one, 
And that, nowadays, is tame. 

The fool who playfully rocks the boat 
Is on the front page no more. 
He may rank high with the fools afloat 
But his glory has gone ashore. 

There's the fool with women, the fool with wine, 
And the fool who games with strangers, 
And the joy-ride fool (he does well in his line 
By combining these ancient dangers). 

But they're all still down in the primer class. 
Mere novices taking a flyer, 
Compared with the prize-taking criminal ass, 
The fool in the woods with fire. 

A few hearts break for the deeds they've done 
In their pitiful amateur way, 
But fire slays dozens where they slay one 
And scourges a State in a day. 

For the ruined home and the smokeless stack 
And the worker unemployed 
Know a hundred years shall never bring back 
The things that his match destroyed. 

— £. T, Allen 
26 



The Forest Ranger 



AN OFFICE DETAIL 

I got a little detail 
To the Supervisor's shack, 
And I hadn't lit in Springer, 
Till I wished that I was back 
On the far end of my district, 
Counting stock or building trail, 
For to work inside an Office 
Is like doing time in jail. 



^li'K. 



This bending o'er a table, 

And a writing all the day, 

Is a-making me hump-shouldered, 

And my hair is turning gray. 

It shore will be my finish 

If they don't relieve me soon, 

For my bewhiskered, sunburnt features 

Is gettin' paler than the moon. 

Some may rant and cuss a little. 
And feel they've got a snob 
Cause they haven't been promoted 
To a Supervisor's job; 
But I'd rather face the devil. 
Or a bald-faced grizzly bear. 
Than this everlasting torment 
In a Super's swivel chair. 



27 



The Forest Ranger 



I thought that I had troubles 
When on my district all alone, 
But I've found that serious trouble 
Was a thing I'd never knovt^n. 
When I git back on my district, 
You can bet your life I'll stay. 
And be thankful to my Maker 
I can dravi^ a ranger's pay. 

— James H, Sizer 



28 



The Forest Ranger 



I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THE SURVEY 

I've been working on the survey, all the live-long 

day, 
I've been working on the survey, just to pass the 

time away. 
Don't you hear the Cook a-calling, rise up so early 

in the morn, 
Don't you hear the Boss a-shouting " Pull your 

trousers on I *' 

Sing me a song of the Survey, 
Pull that chain along, 
Forester ain't half so happy 
As when he's singing a song. 
Stem-analysis crew for the loafers, 
The Height-crew for a snap. 
But if you want the best of fellows, 
The Survey's the best on the map. 

Lake Ambajejut, Me., 1902. 



29 



The Forest Ranger 



WHEN THE RANGER'S FEET GET COLD 

In the spring the ranger's feet begin to tingle and 
get warm, 

For the " wanderlust " is on him, and he feels the 
mountain charm. 

The birds are singing gaily, and the hills are get- 
ting green. 

And he knows the trout are leaping in every moun- 
tain stream. 

The days are getting longer; the flowers are all in 
bloom ; 

So what's the use of waiting in some stuflFy Ranger 
room? 

He gently sounds the ** Boss " on the subject near 
his heart. 

Has he " Heard how long before Brown's sawmill 
's going to start? " 

He talks about the brush that he was going to burn 

last Fall, 
And wonders how his fences are, and if they're 

down at all. 
And how his cabin stood the snow, and if it needs 

repair. 
And about the trail he'd like to " brush " if he were 

only there. 
He overhauls his outfit half a dozen times a day, 
Till the " Boss " takes pity on him and sends him 

on his way, 
For the " wanderlust " is on him, and he feels the 

mountain charm, 
And it's hard to hold a ranger when his feet get 

warm. ^^ 



The Forest Ranger 



The Summer passes quickly — the ranger 's on the 

go, 
He dreads the thought of winter when he'll have 

to move below. 
He gets his share of pleasure, as well as plenty work, 
For a ranger's jobs are many, and he's seldom known 

to shirk. 
He feels at home in cattle camps; the tourists are 

his friends, 
" And I don't care a rap," he says, *' if summer 

never ends ! " 
For his feet are warm and tingling ; there's music in 

the air. 
His home is where he hangs his hat, and he doesn't 

have a care. 

But along about November there comes a sudden 

change, 
The sheep are moving southward; the cattle leave 

the range. 
And the ranger feels a longing, and his thoughts be- 
gin to roam, 
And he dreams about the office, and the dear ones all 

at home, 
His mind is busy scheming how he's going to get 

" called in." 
The " Boss " has sure forgot him, and he thinks it 

is a sin. 
The " wanderlust " has left him, and he doesn't feel 

so bold. 
For he's like all other mortals when his feet get cold. 

— A. R. Ivey 
31 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FOREST CLERK 

Who could relate the kinds of work 
That fall to the lot of the Forest Clerk? 
Record the things that she must do 
Before she counts her day's work through? 

She opens the letters and reads the mail 

From a grazer's complaint to a timber sale : 

She takes dictation as a matter of course 

From the janitor up to the head of the force: 

She bears the brunt of the office ire 

And wears a smile as she pokes the fire : 

Till frowns disappear and hearts grow strong: 

And not the least of her many trials 

Is keeping in mind all things in the files, 

Which files she arranges day after day 

For those who take out but don't put away. 

Accounts and disbursements must be kept well in 

hand, 
As for errors in that line no D. F. will stand ; 
And so the poor Clerk must worry her brains. 
And get little thanks for her efforts and pains: 
She makes out reports and orders supplies 
For the force in the office and Ranger likewise : 
She straightens out claims and helps on the maps, 
Reconnaissance, grazing, or boundaries, perhaps. 
She answers the telephone forty times daily, 
Welcomes all visitors and talks to them gaily, 
E'en though on her desk the work stands knee deep, 
32 



The Forest Ranger 



And all must be finished before she can sleep. 

The first of the year she turns her attention 

To Accountability — too awful to mention ! 

Then follow the things which before I have quoted 

Though dozens of things I haven't yet noted, 

Such as corrals and fences and bridges and trails, 

Telephone lines and great timber sales: 

Fire prevention for tree preservation 

To help Uncle Sam promote Conservation. 

She tends all these duties in a businesslike way ; 
So when all's said and done no critic can say 
She doesn't deserve, from the hands of the Nation, 
The small sum she gets as due compensation. 

— Rita A. Castle 



33 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FOREST ASSISTANT'S 
COMPROMISE 

He longed to be a Ranger 

And through the Forest ride, 
A Stetson on his noble brow 

Six-shooter by his side — 
And now he's wearing hip-boots 

Down in Florida! 

He had read " The Ranger's Triumph,'* 

All full of quirks and thrills, 
He had heard of " Whiskey-High-Ball Bill " 

And those six men he kills — 
And now he's picking chiggers 

On the Ozark ! 

He knew some Forests by their name, 

The Tusayan and Nebo, 
He swore that he would win to fame 

Surpassing that of Pinchot — 
And now he's counting sheep 

Down on the Prescott ! 

He dreamed of fighting raging fires, 
Flames leaped from tree to tree, 

The giant forests gleamed and fell 
As he could plainly see — 

And now he's stationed 
In Pinyon, Nevada! 

34 ' 



The Forest Ranger 



He went to school for many a year, 
At Penn State or dear old Yale, 

He knew that he could 'minister 
A ten million dollar sale — 

But now he's counting seedlings 
On the Wasatch ! 

He thought that in the years to come 

How he would win a wife, 
A glorious, dazzling, wondrous maid, 

A pal to him through life — 
And her maiden name was, 

Lolita Salazar! 

— R, F, Feagans 



35 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FLORIDA RANGER 

Mighty is he who can sail the sea 
And ride a cayuse too, 
Run a line and corners find, 
And boss a timber crew. 

He must know how engines go. 
And how to steer at night. 
How to measure logs and navigate fogs, 
How to quell a nigger fight. 

He's got to know where the seedlings grow, 
Where the oysters bask in bed. 
Where the crackerjack eats the razor back, 
And what the wild waves said. 

To keep his name on Duffy's ^ list, 
And draw the blue lined envelope, 
He's got to show the tattooed wrist, 
As well as throw the cattle rope. 

— L F. Eldredge 

1 Formerly district fiscal agent in the Southwestern Dis- 
trict 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FIRE BUG AND THE EAST WIND 

" No, I'll not burn my slash this spring," 

The moss-back logger said, 
" I'll trust to God and luck again; 

Expense is what I dread." 

" It's time to hit the trail again," 

The careless camper said, — 
And left his little fire ablaze 

Within its leafy bed. 

" I'll light another cigarette," 

The idle loafer said. 
And chucked his old snipe in the brush, 

One end still glowing red. 

" Let's punch the screen out of the stack," 

The donkey fireman said. 
And so he did, and all the sparks 

Sailed blithely overhead. 

" Come on, we'll dump our ashes now," 

The railroad trainmen said, 
The train soon fanned them far and wide 

As on its way it sped. 

" Good time to fire my slashing now," 

The thrifty rancher said. 
And touched it off without a thought 

Of how far it might spread. 
37 



The Forest Ranger 



" I think I'll blow an hour or two," 

The restless East wind said, 
Then liked it so he changed his mind 

And blew a week instead. 

" Millions in lives and timber lost," 

The newspapers next said. 
What made those fires all start at once, 

We wondered as we read. 

" It wasn't us, it was that wind," 

The fools in chorus said. 
So they're alive and loose this year. 

We hope the wind is dead. 

— £. T, Allen 



38 



The Forest Ranger 



THE RANGER 

(The following verses were found in a ranger station on 
the El Dorado National Forest.) 

The season's over, and they come down 

From the ranger stations to the nearest town, 

Wild and woolly and tired and lame 

From playing that " next-to-nature " game. 

These are the men the nation must pay 

For " doing nothing " — the town folks say. 

But facts are different, I'm here to tell 

That some of their trails run right through — well 

Woods and mountains and deserts and brush. 

They are always going and always rush, 

They camp at some mountain meadow at night, 

And dine on a can of " ranger's delight," ^ 

Get up in the morning when the robins sing, 

And break their fast at a nearby spring. 

And then they start for another day. 

With corners to hunt and land to survey. 

That trouble settled they start for more. 

They're never done till the season's o'er. 

They build cabins and fences and telephone lines, 

Look over homesteads and investigate mines. 

There's a telephone call, there's a fire to fight, 

The rangers are there both day and night, 

Till the fire Is out and damage rated. 

And the stand of timber is estimated. 

Oh, the ranger's life is full of joys, 

1 Tomatoes. 

39 



The Forest Ranger 



And they are all good, jolly, care-free boys, 
And in wealth they are sure to roll and reek, 
For a ranger must live on one meal a week. 
But a lookout man is a different thing ; 
Of all the bum loafers he is the king ; — 
He never does a dog-gone thing, 
Just sit on a mountain-top and sing, 
And swear when the phone begins to ring. 



40 



The Forest Ranger 



FOREST FIRES 

There's a roarin' fire a ragin' through our splendid 
timbered slopes, 
And we're fightin' it like devils — with nothin* 
but some hopes. 
Just a smoky sky above us and the cinders 'neath our 
feet 
And no peltin' raindrops fallin' to make our souls 
more sweet ; 
With no bed of downy " suggins " waitin' for our 
needed rest, 
With no chuck at all to feed us — and this surely 
ain't no jest! 
And the pay is ninety dollars — Oh, the rangers' 
living swell, 
And wc like this forest business, but — 
Fires is hell ! 

Today the weather changed a bit — it began to rain 
like sin — 
And we stopped the back-firin' where wc were 
sure we'd win. 
The lightnin' shot through the dead tree tops and 
the thunder sure did roll. 
And we most shook our hides plumb off, a shakin* 
with the cold. 
Wc huddled around the smokin' stumps, feelin* 
something more than damp, 
And a wantin' just to go to camp — but hell, 
there weren't no camp. 
41 



The Forest Ranger 



Just a stormy sky above us and the smoky ground 
beneath, 
And the peltin' raindrops blendin' with the chat- 
ter of our teeth. 
But the pay is ninety dollars — and the rangers' liv- 
ing swell, 
And we like this forest business, but — 
Fires is hell ! 



4a 



The Forest Ranger 



PROMOTION 

The hill of life is slippery 

And until you've reached the top, 
Though you're tired, sick and hungry, 

You can't aflEord to stop. 
For other men are climbing — 

If you stop, you're sliding back. 
And soon you will be numbered 

With the stragglers of the pack. 
Take a man in any business — 

If he attains success, 
He must study what he's doing 

'Stead of doing it by guess. 

It's the same way in the Service, 

But it's on a bigger plan, 
And the problems that confront us 

Are a test for every man. 

We must labor with our muscle 

And also with our brain. 
By our unremitting efforts 

Only will we realize our gain. 

For the men in higher office 

Have had to work their way 
From the job of Forest Ranger 

To the job they hold today. 

And they still must keep on working 

Just the same as you and I, 
For big pig, or little pig, 

It's root, hog, or die. 

— James H, Sizer 

43 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FORESTRY STUDENT 

The Ag student builds his pig pen, 
The pharmacist compounds his pills, 
But we roam thru the forests 
'Neath the pine clad lordly hills. 

The Aggie can handle his chickens, 
The druggist can palm off his dope. 
But we in the fir topped mountains 
With Dame Nature's elements cope. 

The Aggie boasts of his Jerseys, 
The druggist dreams of his " scents," 
But we sleep out in the open, 
The pines and cedars, our tents. 

To him that knows not shall be stated, 
And that's why we pen these lines, 
To the Aggie, the pharmacist, and others, 
Who know not the spell of the pines. 

The Montana Kenmin. 



44 



The Forest Ranger 



THE MYSTERY 

One Sunday morn the Deputy 

His cayuse did bestride, 
And far and wide the lonely hills 

He rode, till eventide. 

At even' he shared his hungry lot 
With a Ranger bold and true, 

And lest you too should with him stop, 
This tale I'll tell to you. 

*' I am a cook," this Ranger said; 

So by the lamplight's glimmer, 
The Deputy he smoked at ease, 

The Ranger cooked the dinner. 

With furtive look he did produce 

An ancient hash machine; 
With sinister smile he fed it 

By the lamplight's eerie gleam. 

He fed it eggs, he fed it rice. 

And onions, one or two, 
He fed it chili, meat, and spice, 

Nor cheese did he eschew. 

Then solemnly he milk did add; 

He stirred it nice and even ; 
With blithesome wink and whistle glad 

He put IT in the oven. 
45 



The Forest Ranger 



The Deputy, he sat and smoked, 

Too late now to escape IT ! 
The stove it burned as if provoked 

But patiently did bake IT. 

And now in mercy Til omit 

The story of the dinner, — 
Enough to say we ate IT all 

By the lamplight's eerie glimmer. 

When all was o'er the Deputy 

Besought this Ranger bold : 
" This Dish, what do you call it, Sir, 

This recipe unfold ? " 

" A Cook am I," the Ranger said, 
" Fearless and bold and free — 

THE MYSTERY I call it. Sir, 
And it is good for thee! " 

On Monday morn the Deputy 

His cayuse did bestride, 
A sadder but a wiser man 

Since Sunday's eventide. 

— Aldo Leopold 



46 



The Forest Ranger 



A RANGER TO HIS BROTHER AT THE U 

You ask me, Old pal, of the forest. 

The mountain, the stream and the pine, 
Of a ranger's life as I see it, 

So I'll try to drop you a line. 
Of course you are wrapped in your studies, 

(Which I note from your card are few) 
But I'll try to teach you a lesson ; 

One you won't learn at the U. 

Have you gazed on big dizzy mountains. 

With deep, dark valleys below ? 
Have you spent the night in the forest 

So still you could hear it grow? 
Have you climbed to the tops of the foothills, 

Where the vision ranges free, 
And seen the pines and the hemlocks 

As far as the eye could see ? 

Have you broken the trail on snowshoes, 

Staggering blind through the snow. 
And heard the great white silence? 

You've got to have grub — so you go. 
Have you seen the stars as a background, 

For the mountains and peaks at rest, 
As you stood in the lookout station 

And watched that fire in the west? 

Have you ever run out any firelines, 
And gone days and nights without sleep, 
47 



The Forest Ranger 



Grimed with the red rage of battle 

And steeled in the furnace heat ? 
Have you gazed on the bleak desolation 

And the blackened trunks as they sway, 
Nature's work for millions of years 

All destroyed in a day? 

Have you followed the trail in the summer, 

Sung a rag-time song on the hill, 
The smell of the pines all about you. 

The sunshiny woods all athrill? 
You see a big buck on the mountains 

And hear the wild birds call. 
And you noticed the bigness, the beauty. 

Haven't you wondered what's back of it all? 

Well, son, have I taught you a lesson 

Can you read it between the lines ? 
I have read you God's own sermon 

As I see it in the pines. 
*Tis the simple text of nature, 

Not heard in any pew; 
Be sure you write and tell me — 

Do they teach you this at the U ? 

— James H, Bonner 



48 



The Forest Ranger 



THE GILA RANGER'S SONG 

The melancholy days have come, 

And this is a sad, sad day, 

For the autumn's here, and I do not know 

What I've done with my summer's day. 

The leaves have turned brown, and come drifting 

down, 
And now we have frost at night; 
I must rustle around and get some clothes, 
For these khakis are mighty light. 

My toes stick out on the cold, cold ground. 
And it sure is hard on my feet ; 
But we can't buy clothes with the pay we get, — 
It's all we can do to eat. 

— Jack Case 



49 



The Forest Ranger 



THE NIGHT TRAIL 

I rode on a lonely trail when night 

From the depths of the canyons drew 
A dusky veil over crag and height 

And the wild land dimmed from view. 
And I paused a space on the rock-strewn rise 

Where the trail to the canyon dips, 
To watch how the day-flush leaves the skies 

Through the west, where a rim of mountains lies 
With a fading glow on their tips. 

In the moment's hush when the day was done 

And the still world seemed to wait, 
An outcast coyote wailed alone 

And a far elk called his mate: 
And it seemed that the wild things voiced a dread 

Of the gloom and the mystery, 
Of a Sense of Fate that with silent tread 

Crept close around, and whose calling led 
Into ways that they could not see. 

I must go my way, for the long miles lead 

By the mountain and cleft ravine ; 
And now must my mount be true indeed, 

For we follow a way unseen. 
What's the worth of a horse, only we can say 

Who alone through the silence ride: 
So I slacken the rein — let him find the way — 

Mine be the guiding hand by day, 
By night let his instinct guide. 
50 



The Forest Ranger 



Save a moon-rimmed cloud on the eastern line, 

The sky wears an inky shroud : 
So still are the masses of rock and pine 

That the hoof beats call aloud. 
Down the canyon's pitch — through the river ford, 

Like a shade through a shadow land — 
Then the stony bar that leads toward 

The bank where the willows in silent horde 
Brush by me with phantom hand. 

And my horse goes true to the end of the trail, 

Where the light of the camp shines out — 
And true goes our purpose that will not fail 

Till we pass through the gloom of doubt : 
True goes the purpose that leads us still 

When our cause knows the hour of night 
Knows the shadows of greed and of selfish will — 

For we know we but ride in the gloom until 
Our way has an end of light. 

— Scott Leavitt 



*i 



The Forest Ranger 



ONLY A LITTLE TREE-BUTTON 

Only a little tree-button but it makes a person blue 
A-thinkin' of mountains to climb up and timber to 

wander through, 
A pack horse loaded with plunder and grub enough 

for two. 
Deer and fish a-plenty and nothin' whatever to do — 
But then I must sew on buttons, and make 'em stick 

like glue. 

Oh, just think of the valleys, with marigolds all 
aglow. 

And the springs that taste like nectar that thru* the 
meadows flow 

Oh, the tiger lilies are buddin', and the roses all 
ablow — 

The mountains in the distance are pink with sun- 
tipped snow — 

But this ain't puttin' on buttons, I've got to get busy 
and sew. 

— Constance Mainwaring 



52 



The Forest Ranger 



RESOLUTIONS OF A RANGER 

Were resolutions made to keep, were schedules fol- 
lowed through, 

Were Working Plans not modified each hundred 
years or two. 

It might be kind of serious-like to so rashly turn 'cm 
loose 

On my unsuspectin* District, in numbers so profuse. 

But seein' as how the poet saith, that resolves arc 
used below 

To pave their trails and highways with, and if what 
he says is so, 

It looks to me both logical, and thoughtful and dis- 
creet. 

That the more of 'em that I turn loose, the less I'll 
bum my feet! 

So here's my crop for New Year's day, and brother 
Ranger mine: 

I know my sentiments agree quite more or less with 
thine, 

So take these resolutions, which I recommend for 
you 

To keep, and never break them, till it's necessary to. 

1. I will love mine enemies. Yea, though their 
goats abide in my pasture, though they tell the Super 
I be a sonofagun, I will love them alway. 

2. I will obey mine hydrographer ; before break- 
fast will I read his gauges; for him will I walk in 
the waters; and for him mightily will I labor, and 
chop the ice from the face of the deep. 

53 



The Forest Ranger 



3. I will collect all the weeds on my District, 
and cherish them in mine Herbar-i-um, that their 
ways shall be known of men, and their Latin names, 
and the length thereof. 

4. I will shun the Evil One, and Miscellaneous 
Executive Duties ; yea, these will I shun. 

5. I will make Promise Cards for all things that 
arc due on sea or land, and the date thereof. 

6. I will blaze not from horseback, that the heart 
of the Boss may be gladdened, that his heart may re- 
joice in my District. 

7. I will count all the cones of the trees, and the 
full measure thereof will I report as the Seed-Crop. 
Yea, though the D. F. command me to collect an 
thousand pounds, and mine hair be made gray and 
full of pitch, so will I report. 

8. In the month of Fires I will drape my ca5aisc 
with shovels ; with rakes of steel and pickaxes of iron 
shall my mule be laden, and I will dwell in mine 
Lookout many days. 

9. I will diligently survey mine June ii's, nor 
will I list where groweth the pine-tree; I will 
recommend him not for listing, though my survey 
twinkle as the stars, though it be shapen like the pan- 
cakes of an Tenderfoot, verily I will recommend 
him not. 

10. I will honor the Super all the days of my life, 
and the Working Plan forever and ever. 

— Jldo Leopold 
54 



The Forest Ranger 



A RANGER'S DAY 

In the morning I get up at eight, 
I light the fire and then I wait 

Until the clock has time to go 
Around the dial a time or so. 

Then when the fire is going good, 
I go and chop a little wood ; 

Not much, you know, it wouldn't pay 
To chop it all up in one day. 

Then I put the coffee on to boil, 
And other stuff, so it won't spoil ; 

I mix the dough gobs in a pan 
Given to me by " the Old Man." 

Then when I've had my fill of food 
(I call it that — it's pretty good) 

I wash what dishes there may be, 
A pan, a pot, and a cup, by gee ! 

Then I saddle up old Kit, 
Go out and look around a bit. 

Up to the lookout — an awful climb — 
Come back down — and it's supper time. 

After supper I go to bed, 

A hard day's work, and I'm nearly dead, 
And I dream of a song that now is rife, 

I think it's called, " This is the life." 

Pram The Forestry Kaimin, 
University of Montana. 

55 



The Forest Ranger 



SKIDOO SKIS 

The snow was smooth and crusted, three feet deep 
or more, 
Couldn't travel horseback as in the days of yore : 
Mountains steep and rugged covered thick with 
trees ; 
Had to fix the phone line, so made a pair o* skis. 
Started o'er the mountain, but I hadn't fur to go 
Till I looked off in a canyon a thousand feet 
below, 
Got straddle of my brake-pole and slid off o'er the 
brink, — 
But of the consequences I hadn't stopped to think. 
Started mighty sudden, and in no time at all 

I was shootin' down the mountain like a glancin* 
rifle ball ; 
Trees passed my line of vision in a dim and misty 
blur, — 
Skis and snow a-makin' a sort of sick'nin' whir. 
Then came a big explosion from somewhere on the 
line. 
And I landed in the branches of an old dead pine ; 
Got myself extracted, dug snow out of my eyes ; 

Couldn't find my pill-bag of telephone supplies. 
The skis had quit the country, — wind was mighty 
cold, 
Looked like there'd been an earthquake, but guess 
'twas where I'd rolled; 
Qothes all tore to thunder, — bark off both my 
knees, 
Rcsultin* from the antics of them gol-darned skts I 

— James H. Sizer 
S6 



The Forest Ranger 



A RANGER'S WORKING PLAN 

His trail is not strewn with roses, 

His life's not the life of a king; 
His knowledge must equal Jehovah's — 

He's supposed to know everything. 

Sheep herders, free users and cowmen 
Throng his station thro'out the day. 

While his " Working Plan " lies unfinished and 
waiting. 
Till they've " augured " and rode on their way. 

He has Uses and Settlement and Grazing, 

Improvements and Claims — which he hates — 

Though it's hard to get a promotion, 
He tries and he tries and he waits. 

But through it all he rides in his glory, 

His badge ashine in the sun, 
With his " Working Plan " ever before him, 

Saying, " Somehow I've got to get it all done." 



57 



The Forest Ranker 



I 
THE FORESTER'S LAMENT 

(Tunc " On the Road to Mandalay.") 

For the planting of a forest, they have put us here 
to roam, 

With the mountains for a play-ground, and the 
chaparral for home, 

But on these sunbaked hillsides, where the sage- 
brush grows so free 

In the dim and distant future, a pine forest you may 
see. 

Chorus 
Our respects to Billy Hall, he's the guy what runs 

us all, 
And he'll do this bloomin' planting, if it can be done 

at all, 
But askin' them that know it best, Hosmer, Miller 

and the rest, 
How without a drop of water, can you plant the 

Golden West? 

We've a cactus for a pillow, and a yucca for a seat. 
And our hobnails hot and heavy, raisin' blisters on 

our feet. 
But now these things we're used to, and we do not 

give a d 

For we're children of the Bureau and we're slaves of 

Uncle Sam. 

SB 



The Forest Ranger 



Chorus 
Try surveying as we've tried it, on shanks marc each 

mountain side, 
And you'll be most gol durn thankful, when youVc 

crossed your last divide. 
Oh, it's better let alone for it's drier than a bone, 
Every blessed inch of country from Mt. Lowe to 
San Anton. 

— /^. W, Ayres 
San Gabriel Forwt Reserre, 1903. 



59 



The Forest Ranger 



A RANGER'S JOYS 
Did you ever for a Summer, try a " bachelor stunt ** 
alone, 
In a lonely mountain meadow, forty miles away 
from home, 
Where mosquitos wore no muzzles, and the flies 
knew how to bite. 
And the rattlesnakes were plenty, and the coyotes 
howled at night? 
Did you ever cook your " flapjacks " in a house so 
full of smoke, 
That your tears dripped in the batter? It is 
funny, but no joke. 
Have you burned your beans and bacon, wished de- 
voutly for a wife ? 
If you haven't, then you're missing half the joys of 
Rangers' life. 

Have you tried to catch your horses in a meadow 
wet with dew, 
Where the grass grew rank and luscious, that 
wet your clothing thru' ? 
Watched them kick their heels with pleasure, and 
then start on a run 
Across that same wet meadow, till you wished you 
had a gun? 
Did you finally corral them in a corner of the fence. 
Stamping, snorting, wildly eager, looking for an- 
other chance 
To dash by you, kick their heels up, just as though 
you were a stranger? 
If you haven't, then you're missing half the joys 
of a Forest Ranger. 
60 



The Forest Ranker 



Have you ridden for an hour, by the side of a roar- 
ing brook, 
Watching trout jump in the sunlight, when you 
didn't have a hook? 
When the shadows on the water were alluring as a 
dream, 
Did you mutter a few " cuss words " as you left 
that tempting stream ? 
Did you swear by all that's Holy, that as sure as 
Sunday came, 
You'd be back there with your fishrod and mix in 
that little game? 
Did you roll out Sunday morning, half awake and 
half asleep. 
To get this little message, " Can you go count 
Freeman's sheep " ? 

Have you ridden through the Forest with the shad- 
ows at your feet. 
While the grouse were drumming 'round you, 
and you hadn't any meat. 
And the quail were thick as spatter, and you couldn't 
take a shot. 
Did the " badge " on your suspenders help your 
feelings out a lot ? 
And at night when you're so tired you can hardly 
even eat. 
Does some tourist " drop in on you," take your 
only easy seat. 
Stick his feet up on your stove hearth, and although 
he is a stranger. 
Tell you calmly as he lolls there, " It's a snap to 
be a Ranger " ? 

6 1 — J, R. Ivef 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FOREST FIRE FIGHTERS 

The wind sweeps off the spire-like peak, 

And is whirling the cinders high ; 
While down in the stifling, deadly reek. 

We struggle, and all but die. 

Wc have felled the trees in the fire's path, 
Till our hands are bleeding and sore; 

But always it speeds, with a hiss of wrath, 
And leaps the barrier o'er. 

Wc have fought it back, with blaze 'gainst blaze, 

And yet has the foe slipped past ; 
But slowly we yield, in the choking haze. 

Till the victory's won at last. 

Small pay do we get, and thanks are gruff. 
When we've fought the foe to his knees; 

But, after all, the reward's enough. 
When we hear the wind in the trees. 

— Arthur Chapman 



02 



The Forest Ranker 



THE RANGER ON THE TAHOE 

The ranger on the Tahoe, in the winter has a snap, 
He has nothing to do but work till hiking time 
comes back. 
When the season's fires are over, full of joy he 
comes to town, 
He's maybe got the notion that he's going to lay 
around, 
But the Boss, too, has a notion and it's mixed with 
plenty tact. 
For he grips our hands with pleasure; says " I'm 
glad to see you back. 
We've had a dandy season, and it's time to take a 
rest. 
We're going to plant some seedlings — fifteen 
thousand at the best. 

" The job will soon be finished, so just to fill out time, 
We'll sow two hundred acres with the seed of 
Jeffrey Pine. 
Of course we'll let all trail work lay over till the 
Spring. 
If it rains we'll make out estimates, reports, and 
other things, 
And do a little mapping, and straighten up our files. 
Also figure on a trail that will save us many miles. 
And since the phone last season proved just to be 
THE THING, 
We'll build a line to Bloomfield between now and 
the Spring. 

63 



The Forest Ranker 



" It's only fourteen miles, and of course we'll cut 
the poles, 
And cut the brush along the way, and also dig the 
holes ; 
We'll stretch the wire, install the phone, and thus 
cut down expense, — 
And then by way of resting, we're going to build 
a fence. 
For our seedlings need protection from the sheep, 
the cow, and horse. 
And then in stormy weather (When we can't get 
out, of course) 
We can study up on Grazing, Silviculture and the 
like. 
To polish up our ' Thinker ' before we have to 
hike." 

So the ranger on the Tahoe has nothing to do but 
work, 
But you can't hear any kicking, and no one tries 
to shirk, 
For weVe got to keep on hustling if we finish up 
by Spring. 
You can bet your badge we'll be there with every 
single thing. 
We're a happy bunch of rangers and when we have 
to part, 
We'll have a friendly feeling for each other in our 
heart. 
And we'll start our summer's duties with a great 
deal keener zest, 
Than if we hadn't hustled to get a winter's rest. 

— A, R, Ivey 
64 



The Forest Ranger 



THE CRY OF THE SURVEY CREW 

It's tramp, tramp, tramp of the moccasined feet 

As through the muck we wallow. 
And it's champ, champ, champ of the hungry jaws, 

As our bread and tea we swallow. 

In the life of the Forester's crew 

It's damned hard work we do. 
For it's sweat all day and it's freeze all night, 

In the life of the Forester's crew. 

Chesuncook, Me., 1902. 



65 



The Forest Ranger 



SPARE TIME 

I've heard tell of side-hill gougers, cactus bucks, and 

ten pound trout; 
Some say they go 'round foretellin' how the moon is 

going out ; 
Now I don't misdoubt, but sometime, somewhere, 

some such things may be. 
But ii they're rangin' on my District, they've fought 

mighty shy o' me. 

Still a fellow can't be certain what things is and 
what can't be; 

There's some big one circulatin* footloose here in 
District Three. 

Ever hear how on the Datil all the cows was painted 
red? 

Till it rained and percolated pigments off the water- 
shed? 

Other wonders too is chousin' round across the scen- 
ery — 

Heard as how on the Apache a billion dollar sale 
there'll be? 

How the Gila had some burros workin' in their 
Working Plan, 

Millin' 'round the Workin' Circle? (till the D. F. 
tied the can). 

Now these wonders I'm relatin' incidental-like to 
you 

Just to lead up gradual to my most obsessin' buga- 
boo. 

66 



The Forest Ranger 



If the Lord should run my District even He'd be 

cuttin' sign 
To find that scarce commodity that the Super calls 

" spare time." 

Not that Fd have you think it's scarce in print. I 

know 
Them files of mine would assay out 'round twenty 

pounds or so, 
'Cause rainy days and winter time and idle hours at 

nights 
In circulars and schedule sheets is sure the favorites. 

But of the actual article it still pains me to forego 

Actual adverse bonny-fide possession a week or so ; 

Might requisition some from Ogden, — maybe there 
they've got some loose, 

But I s'pose they'd say as usual that it ain't for Ran- 
gers' use. 

Now I've got just one more idea; b'lieve some day 

I'll try it out — 
Write a letter to the Zuni, Coronado or the Routt, 
Or better yet, the Coconino, t'send me what they've 

got to spare; 
Never yet heard tell o' nothin* that they didn't have 

out there! 

Now, my friend, I'd best be travellin'. Adios! and 

don't forget 
That spare time for writin' verses is the only kind 

I get. 

— Aldo Leopold 

67 



The Forest Ranger 



THE RANGER'S LIFE 

Nights that are spent in the open, 

Under the whispering trees ; 
Slumber that's sweet and dreamless — 

LuUabys sung by the breeze. 
Waked by the first red sunbeam 

Unto no day of strife — 
Waked to a day of pleasure — 

Such is the ranger's life. 

Over paths flecked with sunshine, 

Threading the tree-lined ways; 
Fording a snow-born streamlet 

There where the big trout plays. 
Surprising the elk at the dawning — 

The bear at his clumsy play — 
Feeling the heart-beat of Nature, 

Such is the ranger's day. 

Think you the city can call him ? 

What charm has the market place? 
Why should he turn from the mountains, 

Inviting, from peak to base. 
Town's but to dream of at even, 

When camp fire smoke curls high. 
So lives the forest ranger 

Under the western sky. 

— Arthur Chapmtin 



68 



The Forest Ranger 



A BUG-LAND LULLABY 

Once an old Beetle Dendroctonus, 

Decided the world he would see; 
So he left the dead tree in the orchard, 

With his wife and Denny, the Wee. 
They traveled far over the mesa, 

And loitered along the way; 
But reached a likely forest, 

Just at the close of day. 

Hush-a-by, Lull-a-by, 

Sleep, for the birds have not gotten uSj 

Hush-a-by, Lull-a-by, 

Dear little Denny Dendroctonus, 

The welcoming breeze in the branches, 

Drove the roving desire away; 
And Daddy Beetle Dendroctonus, 

Decided to locate and stay. 
So deep in a tree he went drilling. 

Deep in a tree that stood high. 
And dug out some canals adjoining, 

In which little Denny could lie. 

Hush-a-by, Lull-a-by, 

Sleep in your beetly thoughtlessness, 

Hush-a-by, Lull-a-by, 

Dear little Denny Dendroctonus, 



69 



The Forest Ranger 



Soon the dead leaves will be falling; 

Soon this big tree will decay. 
You will wax fat on its failing, 

For that is the Droctonus way. 
Soon you'll grow up and go drilling, 

Over the woods as you please, 
Leaving behind a gaunt pathway, 

Of dead and withering trees. 

Hush-a-by, Lull-a-by, 

Sleep, for the Ranger s forgotten us, 

Hush-a-by, Lull-a-by, 

Dear little Denny Dendroctonus, 

— H.R.Mullen 



70 



The Forest Ranger 



THE HOBO RANGER 

He is just a Hobo Ranger, 
But he packs a heavy load, 

For it's Lookout Peaks in summer, 
And it's winter on the road. 

The road is up the South Payette, 
And she's sure a fancy grade. 
But he never gets to use her, 
When once he's got her made. 

There's a schoolmarm in the Valley, 
And he likes to see her smile. 

But there are snowslides in between them, 
And it's many a weary mile. 

When you sit in your steam het office, 
And your cigar's all aglow. 
Think about the Hobo Ranger 
Where it's twenty-five below. 

For he's blasting out the solid rock, 
And picking out the muck. 

He's thinking about you lucky guys 
And cussing at his luck. 

But when he gets his out-fit packed. 
And climbs the Last Divide, 
He finds old Peter waiting. 
And the gates arc open wide. 
71 



The Forest Ranger 



He'll gladly turn his horses out, 
For the forage bill's all paid ; 

He'll pull his worn old hair chaps off, 
And sit down in the shade. 

He'll hear the harps a-strumming, 
As he'll be sitting on the grass, 

For the " rock pile " is far behind him. 
And he's got his Station at last. 

— Norman K. Olmstead 



7^ 



The Forest Ranker 



SUN RIVER PASS 

Till you have seen the sun set behind Sun River 

Pass 
You have not seen the sunset none other can surpass ! 
On left and right rock battlements guard close the 

canyon's mouth 
And Castle Reef stands on the north, and Sawtooth 

on the south: 
The Castle's wall has keep and tower, and mul- 

lioned parapets, 
And Sawtooth's ridge is shot with spires like moslem 

minarets. 
Before, the plain sweeps wide and far, a spell-held, 

silent sea 
Whose breakers at the rampart's foot have caught 

Eternity — 
So short the stretch of broken land that rims the 

prairies' sweep. 
Abrupt and tall the giant walls from out the prairies 

leap — 
So close behind the gated pass the crowded moun- 
tains stand. 
The canyon's but a door that leads from plain to 

mountain land. 

From out the plain in mystic train, when day is 
drawing late, 
The sunset lights like belted Knights ride through 

that castle gate ! 
A glowing host with spears agleam, the Day's bright 

armies go, 
And, silent o'er the fading land, Night's vanguard 
follows slow. 

73 



The Forest Ranger 



And now come pacing sentinels of light upon the 

walls, 
And soft across the ramparts' face a magic splendor 

falls — 
The fortress towers in sudden glow with golden 

hosts are manned, 
And Day behind Sun River Pass has taken up his 

stand ! 
From canyon's gate to Castle's crest his sun-bright 

banners play; 
He's lit his fires on Sawtooth's spires and waits the 

coming fray — 
He's lit his fires on Sawtooth's spires, he waits on 

Castle's crest. 
His armies climb the glowing peaks and spread 

along the west. 

Like Bedouins from the desert depths, Night's 
shadow warriors swarm : 

In silence on the dark'ning plain the sable legions 
form! 

So still they move toward the gap, so quick the col- 
umns mass, 

They've purpled on the fortress walls, they've dark- 
ened in the pass. 

Ere, flashing from the guarded gate in flood of daz- 
zling light, 

A burst of Day in fierce foray leaps out upon the 
Night! 

Now, far across the bursting plain the startled shad- 
ows fly — 

Now, out upon the glooming plain the lights begin 
to die! 

74 



The Forest Ranger 



The hosts of Night have paused in flight — the scat- 
tered Shades return — 

And back, toward the gated pass, Day's failing war- 
riors turn. 

The earth glows red where they lie dead; the red 
has paled to gray — 
And once again before the walls Night waits, in 
grim array. 

Now look, upon the Castle's crest, what glories 
wane and glow ! 

And look, upon Old Sawtooth's spires, what splen- 
dors come and go ! 

The walls are bathed in crimson mist, the gate is 
choked with gloom, 

And dim, behind, as though in dread, the waiting 
mountains loom. 

Grim, silent as a dreaming tide, and Shadow hordes 
move on — 

They've scaled the sullen fortress walls and through 
the gates have gone: 

One scarlet flash along the rim when Light and 
Darkness meet. 

And instant from the graying peaks is Daylight's 
quick retreat : — 

And the Spell of Night comes moving like a conq'ror 
o'er the land, 

And scatters out the sudden stars as largess from his 
hand — 

With a van of mystic shadows, and a train of moon- 
lit state, 
He seats him on the silent towers that guard Sun 
River's gate. 

— Scott Leavitt 
75 



The Forest Ranger 



A RANGER'S NEW YEAR'S RESOLU- 
TIONS 

On New Years, he resolved to be, 
The busiest man, the world could see. 

He would work out his trails, 
Make some large timber sales. 

Which would add to his district's receipts ; 
Then improvements galore. 

Would be made near his door. 
And his cabin kept tidy and neat. 

He vow'd he would see, 

That each permittee, 
Paid fees upon all of his cows, 

To keep Uncle Sam, 
From going ker-slam. 

Straight to — the eternal bow-wows. 

And during fire season. 

He'd find out the reason. 
For every smoke in the sky ; 

And he'd fight with a vim, 
And he'd never give in. 

Until never a spark could he spy. 

Prior authority he'd sue, 

Before buying aught new. 
And he'd strive his " Super " to please; 

For Economy's need. 
He would throttle his greed, 

And every last dollar he'd squeezCi 

76 



The Forest Ranger 



'Most too perfect, 'tis true, 

Yet each man might thus do, 
If he wishes to climb some day; 

For ambitions which sail. 
Are the ones which avail, 

In this speedy old world of today. 

— H, R. Batterton 



77 



The Forest Ranger 



CIRCULAR ONE-FOUR-NINE-SEVEN ^ 

From somewhere 'po^ this sea of distress 
A Clerk is sounding his S O S 
And say in' — " Why in the name of heaven 
Don't they heed order one-four-nine-seven?" 
And under the covers of Six Twenty-Six 
Was given the right to register his kick. 
He asks if somewhere in this broad expanse 
There dwells a Clerk who has had the chance 
To go upon the Forest, so grand and so large, 
And check up the property for which he is charged, 
See the activities of which he keeps track. 
Get much information and take it all back. 

The sun was shining brightly 'long the way 

As I rode in the stage drawn by four horses, grey — 

To clean up the files of Ranger McKyne, 

Look for the property, 'n' do things of that kind. 

The tools were scattered for ten miles 'round 

And most of them yet I have never found. 

The files came next and they were some mess, 

What did I say — Aw can't you guess ? 

With the accumulation of many a season 

Since Adam and Eve walked in the garden of Eden 

Piled together in one box marked " Current " ; 

Now do you blame me for wantin' to burn it ? 

Then I journeyed home next week at 'leven. 

Not caring so much 'bout one-four-nine-seven. 

^The number of a circular letter on property and sup- 
plies. 

78 



The Forest Ranger 



Telephone rang and the lookout's report 
Said — " another fire, go to It, Old Sport, 
For the Super's away and the Rangers too, 
Fightin' the other one, so it's up to you." 
And to it we went — six men and the clerk. 
To put out that blaze and come back to work. 
Squelch it we did, then sat down to rest 
When from over the hills came — I'll be blest! 
Another one yet — bigger one too, 
" Go to it, Old Sport, it's up to you." 
On Tuesday morning before half-past nine 
Seventy-five huskies were out on the line. 
Guided by Rangers, tired and foot-sore. 
Saying, " Come along, boys, do a little more." 
The flames did roar and the squirrels did squeal, 
And me with nine blisters upon each heel ; 
With fifty hours past I lay on my back 
'Neath a tree by the camp, chewing hard tack, 
Till sleep came on and I dreamed of heaven, 
Where there would be no One-Four-Nine-Seven. 

— William E. Harris 



79 



The Forest Ranger 



THE TOURIST AND THE RANGER 
A bloody, bloomin' tenderfoot was sittin' on a gate, 
When I come driftin' down the road 
A-travelln' quite a gait: 

" I say there, Ranger-man, Too-hoo! 

Come chat a jiffy here — 

Do tell me what it is you do! 

By Jove ! It seems so queer." 

Reginald! Sweet Reginald, I to myself did say, 

1 e'en am but a Ranger-man, that in the hills doth 

play. 

And since thou art a cunning thing, so dapper and 
so neat. 

To thee my little tale I'll tell. Forsooth, did I re- 
peat: 

" Fair Sir, I am a Ranger-man 
And my home is in the hills. 
My food's the sweet dew at dawn, 
My drink the mountain rills. 
My charger is my faithful friend 
That takes me where I go. 
And though some nights in bed I spend 
It is not always so. 
" Fair Sir, I am a Ranger-man 
And I love the breeze of spring. 
I love to see the saplings grow 
And hear the birdies sing. 
I love to see the rocks and trees 
And the posies small that blow 
And the little buglets on the leaves 
Whose Latin names I know. 
80 



The Forest Ranger 



" Fair Sir, I am a Ranger-man 
And my duties, Sir, are these: 
I am in charge for Uncle Sam 
Of forty-'leven trees, 
For each am I responsible, 
Each has his name and number 
And forth to tend them. Sir, I go 
When I waken from my slumber. 
" Fair Sir, I am a Ranger-man 
And never do I tire 
To sit upon yon' mountain top 
And see they're not on fire. 
In readiness I wait and watch 
Each one, from ' Pete ' to ' Nero,' 
And ne'er another chance I'll lose 
To be, Fair Sir, a Hero. 

" Fair Sir, I am a Ranger-man 
And when the mom is done, 
I get my brush and curry-comb 
And curry down each one; 
And when their limbs are clean and neat 
And their trunks are smooth and brown, 
With Ivory Soap and water warm 
I wash them gently down." 

And now, when e'er my uniform, I snag upon a root, 
Or when my charger puts his foot, e'en gently on 

my boot, 
Or if I drop upon my toe, a rock of heavy weight, 
I weep, for it reminds me o' that summer eve with 
" Regie " on the gate. 

— Aldo Leopold 
Si 



The Forest Ranger 



THE HEGIRA 

(A large portion of the clerical force of the Forest Serv- 
ice were moved into the West in the fall and winter of 
1908, with headquarters in the cities of San Francisco, Den- 
ver, Portland, Albuquerque, Ogden, and Missoula.) 

Oh, they're whispering in the corners 

And talking in the hall, 
They are scheming and a-planning 

Where to migrate in the fall, 
They are telling one another 

Of the places they like best ; 
Oh, the whole blame outfit's " locoed " 

'Cause we're going out West. 

" Have you ever lived in Portland ? " 

" Is it wet or is it dry? " 
** Do you think you'd like Missoula? " 

" If you do, please tell me why? " 
** Is the living high in Denver? " 

" Are the ladies there well dressed? " 
Oh, these are burning questions, 

'Cause we're going out West. 

** Now / want to go to Frisco, 

Even tho' the earth does quake." 
*' Well, Fm wild to see a Mormon, 

So I'd much prefer Salt Lake." 
" Do you think that I'd get homesick? " 

" Are the Frisco fleas a pest? '* 
What a turmoil has been started, 

'Cause we're going out West. 
82 



The Forest Ranger 



" Oh, they say that board's expensive 

In the town of Albuquerque." 
" But you needn't take a street car 

For to reach your daily work.'* 
" Well, I've heard the living's awful, 

(Now please don't think me silly) 
But really, do they live out there 

On only beans and chili ? " 
Oh, such like doubts and troubles 

Daily agitate the breast, 
Of each one in the Service, 

'Cause we're going out West. 

— Will C. Barnes 



83 



The Forest Ranker 



A FOREST INSPECTION HYMN 

Our eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 
Lords, 

They have read our diaries over where the seeds of 
truth are stored ; 

They have loosed the fateful lightnings of their ter- 
ribly hard words; 
And they've gone marching on. 

Wc have seen them at the camp fires of a dozen ran- 
gers' camps; 

We have builded them a chuck list in the mountain 
dews and damps: 

We shall read their righteous sentence by our dim 
and lonely lamps; 
While they've gone marching on. 

We have heard their fiery gospel handed out with 

every meal ; 
" As ye deal with our instructions, so with you our 

reports shall deal; 
Let the Ranger of the Apache crush the fires with 

his heel ; 
Since we've gone marching on." 

They have sounded forth instructions that shall 

never know retreat; 
They have sifted out our office files before their 

judgment seat; 

84 



The Forest Ranger 



O, be swift our souls to follow them, Get busy, O, 
our feet; 
For they've gone marching on. 

In the beauty of the Office the Lords and Powers 

that Be ; 
Have a glory all about them that transfigures you 

and me; 
As they strive to make us perfect, let us work to 

make them see, 
That we're going marching on. 



The Forest Ranger 



THIS JOB 

The supervisor's troubles are not all known, 
The job seems so easy to handle, 

For your benefit therefore I will relate 
A bit of gossip and scandal. 

From morning till noon I labor, 

From noon till twilight's fall, 
Listening to complaints by hundreds. 

Straightening out many a brawl. 

Sponsor for numerous inspections, 

Information I freely dispense. 
Of homesteaders I am the adviser — 

Really, my field is immense. 

Three hours each day I write letters — 
That's after my other work's done. 

Believe me, with hundreds to answer, 
To dictate I have to go some. 

I plan and I sweat and I worry, 
I please one but another gets sore. 

So what in the deuce is the use, then. 
Of saying that this job's some bore. 

— A Supervisor 



86 



The Forest Ranger 



WIRELESS BILL 

The sun shone hot as he rode on a trot 

From Baseline down the Blue, 
'Twas a rocky trail that he rode for mail 

And he wished that the job was thru. 
As he spurred old " Buck," he cussed his luck 

And wiped the sweat from his face, 
And hoped that he might some day be 

Transferred to another place. 

That night in town, he was looking around 

While out for a little stroll, 
When he saw a guy making fire fly 

From a wire tied to a pole. 
Bill asked the gink, " Now what do you think 

YouVe got? " and began to laugh. 
When the man replied, with apparent pride, 

" It's a wireless telegraph." 

Bill's eyes bulged out and he looked about 

To see how the thing was made. 
Then uttered " Gee ! — that's the dope for me " 

And he struck the guy for a trade. 
The man said, " Well, I don't want to sell, 

But I'll tell you what I know: 
I can get you one, if you want it done 

For a hundred bucks or so." 

87 



The Forest Ranger 



Bill said, " All right, you can order tonight, 

The machine you think is best 
For my use on the Blue, and I'll leave it to you, 

To start it and give it a test." 
So the deal was closed and William dozed, 

That night in a fitful dream. 
Of a message sent by the President 

Commending his " wireless scheme." 

Then the instrument came, but to put up the same, 

The wire was not half enough, 
So to cut the expense, Bill tore down the fence 

And strung it from bluff to bluff. 
The aerials hung from the barbed wire swung 

From a crag on the canyon wall. 
And the transmitter set on the table to let 

Sir William send out his first call. 

Then William was taught by the hombre that bought 

The outfit and each made a try. 
With the thing on his ear in an effort to hear 

Some message that lurked in the sky. 
Then each one heard and his pulse was stirred 

As the message was heard again, 
An S O S from a ship in distress 

Somewhere oflE the Coast of Maine. 

Then an officer called to a truck that was stalled 

Somewhere on the Rio Grande, 
To rush on the screens for cleaning the beans, 

As the soldiers were foundered on sand. 
88 



The Forest Ranger 



Then Southampton asked a warship that passed 

Off the Coast of the Isle so Green, 
To keep a lookout as she coasted about 

For a German submarine. 

" She's a grand success," said Bill, " and I guess 

I can talk now when I please, 
And the floods can roar, past the Station door 

While I sit and take my ease. 
'Stead of slipping my joints, climbing high points 

In an effort to get to town. 
Whether daylight or dark, I'll tick off a spark 

And flash my message down. 

" And the trail be blowed when I master this code 

And can talk with average speed, 
Then an aeroplane to pack in my grain 

Will be about all I need." 
So week in and week out. Bill ambled about 

Absorbed in a wireless book, 
While his dear, loving spouse, slipped about thru the 
house 

With a lonesome and far away look. 

When she'd cooked up a meal, she would quietly 
steal 
To the door and peek thru a crack, 
When Bill at the stand, with the ticker in hand, 

Would frantically motion her back. 
As midnight drew near, she would call to him 
" Dear, 
Can't you come and cat supper now please? " 

80 



The Forest Ranger 



And he'd answer, " Yes, Hun, I am pretty near 
done," 
But he'd keep right on thumping the keys. 

Then a message he sent, across the whole continent, 

Which was copied at length by the press, 
He was given much praise, for his wireless craze. 

And the venture pronounced a success. 
Bill's dream has come true, and the far away Blue 

Seems now just over the hill. 
And the bright little spark that you see after dark 

Is a message from " Wireless Bill." 

— James H, Sizer 



yu 



The Forest Ranger 



THE BUSY RANGER 

Under the spreading pinyon tree 

The Ranger Station stands; 
The Ranger, a busy man is he, 

With Economy and Working Plans, 
And the many things he ought to do 

Far more than fill his hands. 

His form is lean and lank and long, 

His face is like the tan. 
His brow is wet with bloody sweat, 

He does whate'er he can, 
He looks the User in the face, 

And owes not any man. 

Hour in, hour out, from morn till night. 

You can hear his Oliver go, 
You can hear him pound the keyboard black, 

With measured pound and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 

When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the Station door. 
They love to see the Ranger man, 

And hear the Ranger roar, 
And catch his burning words that fly, 

Like chaif, from the Station door. 
91 



The Forest Ranger 



Working — planning — economizing — 
Thus through the year he goes ; 

Each quarter sees a new plan begun, 
Each quarter sees its close. 

A whole lot planned, and some of it done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

— 7. D. G. 



92 



The Forest Ranger 



QUITTING TIME 

The fire guard stood on the lookout, 
The ranger stood on the ground ; 

Said the fire guard to the ranger, 

" Do we quit when the sun goes down ? ** 

" No, no," said the forest ranger, 

" We work until it's dark." 
" If that is the case," said the fire guard, 

" rU take my time and start. 

" I'll travel the wide world over, 
I'll roam from town to town. 

Until I find a forest ranger 
Who will quit when the sun goes down." 



93 



The Forest Ranger 



A RANGER'S THANKSGIVING HYMN 

O Lord: 

I don't know where your office is, 
Or what your office hours may be — 
I doubt you ever topped a bronc; 
I think you never marked a tree. 
Perhaps you never fixed a phone, 
Perhaps you never rode to smoke — 
You may perhaps have worked alone — ' 
But was you ever downright broke ? 

I don't know where your office is, ! 
Or how you stand with Washington, 
How long you worked without a raise, 
Or if you think wet snow is fun. 
Our phone line's up and working now, 
O Lord — the stock is off the range. 
The Station roof ain't leaking now 

Lord — my pocket's got some change. 

The snow is coming every night; 
There ain't no smoke and fire to dream ; 
The brush is burning slow and right; 
I've picked the horse to make my team, 

1 hear a raise is coming thru' ; 

I've plenty — not too much — to do. 

O Lord — if things is right in District Three, 

The D. F. can thank the Supe and ME. — Amen. 



94 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FIRE FOOL 

(With apologies to Rudyard Kipling.) 

A fool there was and he flung a match, 
Even as you and I, 
Carelessly down on a sun-dried patch, 
Giving no heed that a fire might catch 
And spread to the timber with quick dispatch, 
Even as you and I. 

The fool passed on with wondering look, 
Even as you and I, 
He couldn't explain the fire that took 
The forest away, and dried the brook, 
And left the region a place forsook, 
He was a fool — that's why. 

— A. G. Jackson 



95 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FOREST LOAFER 

The Forest Ranger's life is joy, 

His days are spent in play, 
His weeks are fun without alloy; 

His months one happy roun-de-lay, 
But just to keep himself in trim 

He works a bit each day. 

Monday sees a mile of trail 

Blocked by a landslide's fall. 
He mends a couple of bridges frail, 

And cuts the grade on the canyon wall. 
But aside from putting that trail in shape, 

He does not work at all. 

Tuesday finds him full of sand. 

And clean as a chimney-sweep. 
He rides ten miles to the driveway stand 

And tallies ten thousand head of sheep. 
But seeing this trifling duty done, 

He spends the day in sleep. 

Wednesday morning some campers came, 
Loaded with ignorance, matches, and gall. 

Well primed to set the forest aflame, 
And burn the timber, straight and tall. 

He trailed them till they were safe in bed, 
But otherwise did not work at all. 

96 



The Forest Ranger 



Thursday a couple of thieves he caught 
Filing fake claims to get the wood. 

This day's work almost came to naught, 
For they were friends of Senator Goode. 

But after the gang was safe in jail, 
He loafed, as a ranger should. 

Friday he made a timber sale, 

With a certified check as security. 

He figured the stand by the decimal scale, 
And branded U. S. on every tree. 

So, while he might have done some work, 
He passed the day in ecstasy. 

And Saturday, like the rest of the week, 
He played at tennis, and golf, and ball. 

He shod his pony, cleaned the creek. 
Burned some litter, and built a stall. 

But generally speaking, the livelong day, 
He wrote his reports, that's all. 

— Fred G. Plummer 



97 



The Forest Ranger 



RECONNAISSANCE 

We call his work reconnaissance : 
A shorter, uglier word perchance, 
Would better serve the new man's use 
To circulate his heartfelt views, 
When first he hits the higher hills 
And suffers pedatory chills. 

At first each separate '' forty " seems 

A mile across; each *' corner " gleams 

A diamond in a world of night : 

The tyro thinks: " This run's a fright, 

I'll never see the camp again — 

My Kingdom for an aeroplane! " 

His legs are stiff, his feet are sore, 

He carries bruises by the score; 

Each day's a crisis in his life. 

An aeon of unending strife: 

And even as at night he dreams. 

The cook, with " Breakfast ready," screams. 

He curses out the " rotten chuck," 
And figures he's clean out of luck, 
Nurses a grouch exceeding glum 
And wishes he had never come; 
Like Job, his last despairing cry : 
" I'll curse the government, and die! " 

98 



The Forest Ranger 



But as the season wears along 

He finds he's growing hard and strong, 

The steepest peaks with glee attacks 

And gaily, skillfully he tracks 

The elusive contour to its death, 

Nor pauses once to gasp for breath. 

His attitude is altered quite. 

The work's a cinch, the world is bright. 

He has a glance for towering trees. 

For rocks and streams, the mountain breeze 

For him is musical, he'd fain 

A-cruising all his days remain. 

And when he's ordered back to town 
And on some district settled down. 
He'll say: " This ranger job's all right, 
You get to sleep in bed at night, 
But Fd sure like another chance 
At working on reconnaissance." 

— W. P. Laws on 



99 



The Forest Ranger 



ON CHANGING THE NAME OF 
HELLGATE ^ 

It isn't much to look at on the map — 
A ragged stretch of broken spots of green 
A paltry million acres, more or less, 
With crooked blanks and rivers in between. 

If you don't know where to look, it's hard to find ; 
And it isn't anywhere in totals on the list ; 
Of course the Program names it with the rest, 
But it could go and really not be missed. 

The name it's got sounds funny in the east, 
It earnt it square enough one time, I guess, — 
It's got a crooked history with things and men ; 
Amalgamated Copper had the whole thing leased. 

A peevish rustler tried to burn it up; 
The Senate tried to give it all away; 
Somebody went and stuck it on the map, 
And now I guess it's on there green to stay. 

But if you know the country up the Range, 
From Beefsteak Canyon up to Tin Cup Joe, 
Granite and Wisdom — it's sure hard to change, 
And get a new name for the works we know. 

— P. S. Love joy 

* Now the Deerlodgc National Forest. 
100 



The Forest Ranger 



THE NEW FOREST ASSISTANT 

When the new-made assistant goes into the West 
With a red neckerchief, and a shield on his chest, 
He must learn a few things that he hasn't half 

guessed 
Ere he make a good forest assistant. 

Now all you collegians appointed next March 
To compute volume tables of Lodgepole and Larch, 
Just lend your attention and jot on your charts 
Some advice to the forest assistant. 

First, put the soft pedal on " know it all " brag; 
Don't lay down on the job and rely on your 

"drag"; 
Have an eye to the gent with the " snipe-bagging " 

gag 
That might queer the young forest assistant. 

When the Fall cruising comes in the sleet and the 

rain. 
And your side pardner's grouch almost goes to your 

brain, 
Just look to your compass, and mind how you 

chain, — 
That helps train the young forest assistant. 

When your " Annie " is reading 6,000 or more, 
And you're blue with the cold and wet to the core, 

lOI 



The Forest Ranger 



Remember that others have been there before, 
And keep on like a forest assistant. 

When you're put on a job that's some out of your 

line, 
Don't cuss at the Service and go to resign, 
The chief knows more than you, as you will soon 

find 
If you stick as a forest assistant. 

Get along with the men that you find on the job ; 
Don't criticize grammar, and set up for a snob ; 
They were woodsmen ere you learned to puff at a 

" cob " 
And wear a badge like a forest assistant. 

Don't think overmuch of the old college days, 

Of the girls that you knew, — of the dances, and 

plays. 
But make up your mind that the trail that you blaze 
Will help out the next forest assistant. 

-^ Jack Welch 



102 



The Forest Ranger 



CERCOCARPUS ^ 

When you want to hit the pipe now'days 
Don't buy one made of briar, 

For we're usin' Cercocarpus 
And it's fine to hold the fire. 

Let me tell you how it happened, 
For I'm sure you ought to know 

That the price of briar and apple 
Is too stiff for poor man's dough. 

So thus we're forced to sacrifice 
That bush that grows on high, 

On the mountains of our forests, 
Cercocarpus, you're to die. 

You can no longer rest secure 

Upon the lofty slope, 
For cruel man will cut you down 

That other men may smoke. 

We are sizin' up your value now 

To sell you off right soon, 
For the Government needs the money 

And receipts must have a boom. 

So we'll fill the bowl with hurley 
And though your wood tastes queer, 

We salute you, Cercocarpus! 
May your end be not yet near! 

— Gordon T. Backus 

^A Forest Service circular letter in 1916 stated that the 
plan was to try out the wood of Cercocarpus as a substitute 
for French briar for pipe bowls and asked for an estimate 
of the amount found on each Forest. 
103 



The Forest Ranger 



THE LITTLE STILL 

Down under the hill there is a little still, 
And the smoke's all curling to the sky. 

You can easily tell, by the sniffle and the smell, 
There's good liquor in the air close by. 

Oh, it fills the air, with a perfume rare, 

And it's only known to few. 
So turn up your lip, and take a little sip. 

Of the good old mountain dew. 

— Douglas Rodman 



104 



The Forest Ranger 



BILTMORE FOREST SCHOOL 

Though far from home and friends we may roam, 
Our hearts with a longing will fill, 

As our thoughts drift back to the little log shack 
And the good old moon shine still. 

— James H. Sixer 

Apache National Forest. 



105 



The Forest Ranger 



THE RANGER MEETING 

The Ranger Meeting's over, and we've all returned 

to camp, 
And the wisdom we've imbibed seems to give our 

brains a cramp. 
What we haven't learned of fires isn't worth a single 

thought ; 
And the fungi and such tree pests, we can pick them 

up red hot, 
For we saw them on the blackboard, and we've 

learned their every twist, 
So their days are surely numbered, for we'll slap 

them on the wrist ; 
And that able word " efficient " we can juggle out of 

sight. 
For we saw it turned and twisted backwards, for- 
wards, left and right. 

What we do not know of timber would be hard to 

show us now, 
For we chewed upon this subject till there are 

wrinkles on our brow. 
We watched it from the seed till it grew a mighty 

tree 
And we found out how to sell it, and how to give it 

free. 
We know just how to cut it, lop the limbs and pile 

the brush. 
And when it comes to burning, just leave the job 

to us. 
Estimating fascinates us so, we've nearly ceased to 

rove, 
For we're busy mapping timber in our cabins by the 

stove. 

1 06 



The Forest Ranger 



Now " Reports " has been a subject that has turned 

our dark hair gray, 
But we put the kibosh on it in a single happy day. 
We know that an affidavit must state a solemn fact, 
And not that " Tom Jones thinks that Bill stole 

Jack Smith's hat " 
We know just what a trespass is, and what's a 

squatter's right. 
And the value of water as a power to make electric 

light, 
We can classify even sections till we can say them 

oflF by rote. 
But there's a few odd numbered sections that seem to 

get our goat. 

We thought all there was to grazing was to keep the 

stock in feed 
And get them plenty water, and all the salt they 

need. 
To see they do not tramp the range, nor stray on 

other's land, 
And count the stock, and run out the range, for 

each and every band; 
But we all know now that grazing means far more 

to us than that. 
We must grow more grass and browse feed too, and 

get it on a map. 
Then show the stockmen how to grow two head 

instead of one. 
And thus cut down the price of meat, instead of 

with a gun. 

— A. R. Ivey 
107 



The Forest Ranger 



GRIEF 

Supervisor's detailed, 

Clerks are sick: 
Trains are derailed, 

Snow is thick, 

Rivers are up, 

Phone lines down, 
Rangers on leave, 

Grippe in town. 

Mail is behind. 

Reports can't go, — 
Can't expect things 

To be " just so." 

— Mary B, Sizer 



io8 



The Forest Ranger 



THE SONG OF THE OHMLETTE 

" Considerable trouble has been experienced from time 
to time caused by insects getting into telephone boxes and 
interfering with the action of the ringer and generator. 
It has been found that this trouble can be done away with 
to a large extent by placing a moth ball inside of the tele- 
phone box." 

— Daily Bulletin of January 5, 1916. 

My name is Little Ohmlette, 

I'm a busy little bee, 
My home is in the telephone 

Where I roost on the battery. 

I'm a very little insect, 

No larger than a pin — 
But when I flit from coil to bell 

I make an awful din. 

I love to ride the armature 

And listen to the sound, 
For when they turn the crank outside 

It spins me all around. 

It's fine inside the generator 

And in the transmitter too, 
But when the ranger tries to talk 

The air gets awfully blue. 

I was a happy little bug 
But my joy has gone away, 
109 



The Forest Ranger 



For these words came o'er the wire 
That make me want to pray : 

" Vm sending you some moth balls, 

Use freely in your phone, 
We'll make that Little Ohmlette 

Vamoose his happy home." 

I'm a sickly Little Ohmlette now, 
And my breath is coming slow, 

For I'm roosting near a moth ball 
That the ranger placed below. 

But when I die and my body clogs 

The wheels that go around, 
I hope that ranger breaks his arm 

And never gets a sound! 

— Gordon T. Backus 



1 10 



The Forest Ranger 



IF 

If you can toss a match into a clearing, 

And never give a thought to put it out, 

Or drop your cigarette butt without fearing 

That flames may kindle in the leaves about ; 

If you can knock the ashes from your brier, 

Without a glance to sec where they may fall, 

And later find the forest all afire. 

Where you have passed — with no one near to call ; 

If you can drive your auto through the cutting 

And cast your stogie stub into the slash. 

Unmindful of the danger therein lurking. 

Or homes and happiness that you may smash ; 

If you can leave your campfire while 'tis glowing, 

No thought of industries that it may blight, 

Or of the billion saplings in the growing. 

Turned into charcoal ere the coming night; 

If you can start a fire beneath a brush pile 

When the wind is roaring like a distant gun, 

You surely should be shot without a trial — 

And what is more, you'll be a fool, my son. 

— Harris A. Reynolds 



III 



The Forest Ranger 



FOREST RANGER'S SONG 

What do you know in your dim proud cities 
Of the world God made when God was young? 
Have you ever lain by the limbs of nature 
Or slept to the songs she has made and sung? 

Have you ever visioned the face of nature 
Or fathomed the heart of the living God; 
You in your sterile, dull-hued dungeons 
Treading the stones your fathers trod? 

Freshen your lives in the forest olden! 

Life is the only thing we own ; 

And Time is the tool that shapes and fashions 

A soul of worth from a thing unknown; 

And Time is ours in the forest olden, 
Time to listen and time to dream ; 
And Time to smile to each bird that flutters, 
And Time to talk to each tumbling stream. 

For weVe given our hearts to the ancient forest, 
To the stalwart pines and the sweetheart flowers. 
To the winds that sing and the showers that sweeten 
The marching months and the hurrying hours. 

The long trails flee from our horses' hoof beats ; 
A high-horned saddle between our knees — 
Bright peaks touched by the lips of heaven — 
Silence deep in the sentinel trees — 

112 



The Forest Ranger 



Dawn ! and the world is a morning glory, 
Day! and the world is a shining sword, 
Birds glint by like a thousand jewels 
Out of a golden chalice poured. 

Evening comes ; and a glowing campfire, 
Wind in the branches sighs and sings. 
Stars on guard and the night for cover — 
Mine is a couch too good for kings. 

Ah, what do you in your dingy cities 
Know of the heart of the world God made ; 
Of the woods and the wild in the windy open, 
And the shine of the leaves in a sudden glade. 

And the last white tent of the Forest Ranger, 
Where the flame of a welcoming campfire gleams 
At the end of the trail when life is over, 
And Death awaits with his gift of dreams? 

— fV. P. Lawson 



113 



The Forest Ranker 



THE PRODIGAL 

I was tired of the silence and grandeur, 
Of the solemn, unchanging hills, 
Where the only echo of music 
Was the splashing of mountain rills 
I heard in my dreams in the cabin, 
Lonely, and lonesome, alone, 
The hum of the far-away cities 
Insistently calling me home. 

I dreamed of the restaurants and dancing, 

The avenues' pomp and display. 

The whir of six-cylinder autos, 

The lights on the lighted way. 

The stillness ; the gloom of the fir trees 

Obsessed and oppressed me the more 

As I thought of waste years in the backwoods 

Which the future could never restore. 

Then I threw up my job in the Service, 
Pulled stakes and trekked back to the towns; 
Turned in my badge and my transit; 
Turned my back on my daily rounds. 
The restless go-fever was on me, 
I wanted a change — which I found, 
For I landed a place in an office 
With a shaky typewriter to pound. 

Now I dream in a twenty-tier building 
Of the men and the days back there ; 
The work that was always man's work — 
The tang of the mountain air. 
114 



The Forest Ranger 



These are pretty good fellows 

As men in the cities go ; 

But those clear-eyed, weather-bronzed rangers 

Are the sort I'd rather know. 

My muscles are loose and lazy; 

Tobacco tastes bitter and stale. 

Lord, it was good on the hazy, 

Damp days on the Darrington trail! 

The fire glows again by the river, 

The horse-bells tinkle at night, 

The packer comes up with the mail sack — 

(Which weighs altogether too light.) 

I've learned as naught else could have taught mc 

The depth and the breadth of it all ; 

That a " snap " isn't just what I thought it; 

That the payment is petty and small. 

Not in money, perhaps, but in pleasure, 

Satisfaction in work well done ; 

The thought that you've given full measure 

Counts more than cash easily won. 

So I think I'll go back to the Service; 
I'm sick of this routine work. 
The monotony's driving me loco; 
I wasn't cut out for a clerk. 
Out there where the Rangers are waiting ; 
Out there where life's really worth while ; 
Out there in the limitless open; 
There's a job that is more to my style. 

— Jack Welch 

"5 



The Forest Ranger 



THE BUSY SEASON 

There's many a crooked, rocky trail, 
That we'd like all straight and free, 

There's many a mile of forest aisle, 
Where a fire sign ought to be. 

There's many a pine tree on the hills, 
In sooth, they are tall and straight. 

But what we want to know is this, — 
What will they estimate? 

There's many a cow-brute on the range, 

And her life is wild and free, 
But can she look at you and say, 

She's paid the grazing fee? 

All this and more, — it's up to us — 

And say, boys. Can we do it? 
I have but just three words to say. 

And they are these : " TAKE TO IT." 
— Aldo Leopold 



ii6 



The Forest Ranger 



WHEN WINTER COMES AROUND 

The summer now is nearly o'er; 

Thank goodness I've come through, 

And kept my record pretty good 

For the work I had to do. 

For a ranger's life's no bed of ease 

And troubles many are found, 

So that's the reason I welcome the time 

When winter comes around. 

When the fires were raging fiercest 
And half dead from want of sleep, 
I've thought about the winter time 
When the snow lies white and deep. 
And when saddle-sore and weary, 
I've hugged the cold hard ground, 
I've thought of comforts coming 
When winter comes around. 

When after a hard day's work afield 
I've sat through half the night 
To make those overdue reports 
Sound rational and right, 
When my brain was numb and weary, 
Almost dead to sight and sound, 
I've planned the office work I'd do 
When winter comes around. 



»i7 



The Forest Ranger 



O, rU heat up this old Station 
When the nights get long and cold, 
I'll read and study, write and draw 
As much as my brain will hold. 
I'll gain back again the flesh I lost 
While on the summer's round, 
My annual leave I'll also take 
When winter comes around. 

— //. R, Ivey 



n% 



The Forest Ranger 



RECREATION 

When the hunting season opened I cleaned my 

trusty gun, 
For my annual leave was coming and I planned to 

have some fun. 
I bought a lot of cartridges and stuck them in my 

belt, 
Loaded up my pack horse, and Gee, \\ow proud I 

felt! 

I rode up in a canyon to a mighty pretty spot, 
Found tracks of deer and turkey and I knew^ I'd get 

a shot. 
Got up early in the morning in the frost so cold and 

w^et. 
And started out a-hunting to see v^^hat I could get. 

I struck a bunch of turkeys and my old gun sprung 

a leak, 
But the blamed infernal turkeys was a-runnin' like 

a streak. 
I exploded seven cartridges, a-runnin' as I shot, 
But a little bunch of feathers was the only thing I 

got. 

Next day I rimmed a mountain side for many weary 

miles. 
Through brush and lava boulders thrown up in 

awful piles; 

119 



The Forest Ranger 



Then I heard the rocks a-rolling down hill and to 

my right, 
And saw a buck a-runnin' but he soon was out of 

sight. 

The next four days I ambled through timber, brush 

and park 
From daylight in the morning till sometime after 

dark, 
Looking very careful and stepping mighty light. 
But never seeing nothing till I come to camp at 

night. 

The seventh day, for breakfast, bread was all I had 

to eat, — 
With a cup of black coffee, I sure was needing 

meat; 
So I made an extra effort to try and kill a buck, 
But never saw nothing, as was just my luck. 

All the game had quit the country and the only liv- 
ing thing 

That was capable of moving on either foot or wing 

Was me and my two horses; so I packed my bed 
and steel 

And hiked it back to Springer and a good square 
meal. 

Though I got no deer or turkey, and my feet are 

bruised and sore 
From walking through the malpais some forty miles 

or more, 

1 20 



The Forest Ranger 



My trip was not all failure as some folks may have 

guessed, 
For one thing that I did get was a darned good rest ! 

'Twas relief from official worries and the regular 

daily grind, 
And the high cost of living that had occupied my 

mind ; 
And I came back feeling younger than when I went 

away, 
And I take a keener interest in the business of the 

day. 

— James H, Sizer 



lai 



The Forest Ranger 



TO MY OLD COMRADES 

Although I am tired and weary 
I will take up my pen and write, 
As I think of those days in the Service, 
Those days so busy and bright. 

Upon the screen of my mem'ry 
There flashes the faces of men 
With the real red blood of their fathers, 
More used to the rifle than pen. 

With a smile they faced all the dangers 
Of storm, of flood and of field, 
Nor were they e'er known to falter 
Or an inch from plain duty to yield. 

Where the fire line was waving and roaring 
There you'd find them with shovel and axe ; 
There they'd stay till the demon was conquered 
And their efforts not once would relax. 

Where the lofty pine trees were falling 
'Mid the clatter of axe and of mill. 
There the lads with their Decimal scale rule 
Were at work, and at work with a will. 

Where the mountains were tallest and snow- 
crowned. 
Where the canyons were deepest and dark. 
You would find those men of the Service ; 
There you will still find our old Service mark. 
12a 



The Forest Ranger 



They were hot on the trail of the looters 
Ever scenting those men as their prey, 
For they brought them to time in short order 
And scarcely one e'er got away. 

It may be I never shall see them again, 
But my best wishes go with them thro' life, 
And may they be happy and prosperous too, 
Also good luck to the brave Ranger wife. 

They say that heaven is a beautiful place 
With rest, sweet songs, peace and joys, 
But the thing that would suit me down to the ground 
Is — charge of God's Forests, and for Rangers — 
these boys. 

— C. C, Hall 



123 



The Forest Ranger 



A PIPE DREAM 

When the last Circular Letter is written, and the 

Supers are lean and old, 
When the youngest Ranger is pensioned, and the last 

stick of timber is sold; 
We shall rest, and faith, we shall need to, sit back 

for an aeon or two, 
Till the Master of all good Supers shall send us new 

things to do. 

And the Supers that were good shall be happy ; they 

shall sit and smoke at their ease ; 
They shall run their Forest as it suits them, with 

never an Office to please. 
They shall have real Rangers to choose from, honest 

and tried and right ; 
They shall dictate from morning till evening, and 

never be tired at night. 

And only the User shall praise us; and only the 
Nester shall blame. 

And no one shall work for money, and no one shall 
work for fame. 

But each for the joy of working, and each in his 
separate star. 

Shall do the thing as he sees it, for the God of For- 
ests that Arc. 



124 



The Forest Ranger 



SPRING HAS CAME 

Being a Comedy in Three Acts 
(With apologies to Ranger Perry.) 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE 

Forest Ranger {wishing for Spring to come) 
Bruno, a young Houn Dawg. 

Act I 

Scene I. Sunday, a warm, bright, happy day. 
Ranger sitting behind a pipe, and a large desk, 
in picturesque disarray, on which are 6 stacks of 
grazing applications each i foot high. Crayons, 
ink, pencils, gem clips, fire warning pen-wipers, 
tobacco cans, erasers, blotters, grazing manuals, 
circulars, pocket-knives, and match stubs scat- 
tered about in the interstices. Packages of Gar- 
den Seed on one corner of the desk, and a Seed 
Catalogue in the Ranger's pocket. 
The Ranger {looking out of the window) : 

"Damn!" 

{Curtain) 

Act II 
Scene I. Sunday, a warm, bright, thawy day. 
Ranger, on the sunny side of his barn, digging 
furiously with a happy smile, tools scattered 
about, packages of Garden Seed in his pocket. 
Bruno on an eminence in the background; look- 
ing on. Ranger completes digging of ground, 
125 



The Forest Ranger 



which is in a hotbed frame, and sows many rows 
of seed carefully and with a smile. Finishes sow- 
ing, and stands up. 

The Ranger {happily): "Damn!" 
Bruno {Wags tail and smiles from the eminence 
in the background), 

{Curtain) 

Act III 

Scene I. Monday, early morning, A raging bliz- 
zard. The snow flies in whirls and gusts, and the 
wind howls in the eaves of the barn, on the south 
side of which, on the sagging tarp which covers 
the hotbed, sleeps Bruno, curled up in the warm 
hole which he had to turn around nine times to 
make. The wind howls, and Bruno curls up 
tighter. 

Enter, The Ranger, heavily wrapped, from the 
house. 

The Ranger {vehemently, seeing Bruno) : 
"DAMN!!!" 

(Bruno, scenting the vials of wrath, retires apol- 
ogetically to the eminence in the background, 
where he reluctantly sits down in the cold snow, 
slowly wagging his tail. The Ranger looks 
long and sadly at the hotbed; then turns to 
Bruno.) 

{Curtain) 

THE END 

136 



The Forest Ranger 



THE DIARY AND THE REFLECTION 

I've jammed the heater full o' wood 

To hear the spruce a-crackling, 
I've shoved the cayuse all the hay 

He ever will be tackling, 
I've swept the floor tonight once more 

And folded up Old Glory ; 
So now I guess I'll get my pipe 

And write the whole day's story. 

" IVc run two miles of line today 

To estimate some timber 
Upon the claim of Harry Sloan — " 

By heck! it makes me limber 
To cuss my way through brush and bay 

And spruce that's just like cat's claws; — 
But then I guess I'd mind it less 

If not so plumb monotonous. 

This June eleventh work I think 

Would hit me best in summer, 
If fire fighting were postponed 

Or a forgotten number. 
Improvement work is what I want — 

To build new trails and bridges. 
And plant the lookout cabins on 

The blooming mountain ridges. 



127 



The Forest Ranger 



Run out a telephone or two 

And cut the poles for lines; 
Split rails for fences all the day 

From good old straight white pines. 
That is the kind of work I want — 

It keeps my blood from crawling, 
No matter how much sleet or snow 

Or how the wind's a-blowing. 

No, give me no more claims, I say, 

The stuff is not my liking. 
If they come pouring in this way 

You're apt to see me hiking. 
Bring out with you a guard or two 

To do this muskey sprawling, 
And give me some improvement work. 

To keep my blood from crawling. 

— /. A. Larsen 



128 



The Forest Ranger 



ON THE GUNNISON 

Ten thousand feet above the sea 
The ranger trims a dead pine tree, 
Then from his bulging saddle sacks 
He takes a tiny box of tacks, 
A fire notice, two or three, 
He posts with great celerity. 
From here he climbs the highest peak, 
The reader wonders, what to seek. 

He has to gather Red Spruce seed. 
Then hunts two hours for poison weed. 
The weeds are pressed right in his book. 
Accompanied with a disgusted look. 
The snow scale next is in his line. 
But can he really spare the time ? 
For before he gets back to his shack 
He adds a black bear to his pack. 



Next comes the streams, at every fall 
He gauges them both big and small. 
The temperature he sure must take. 
And sound the depth of every lake. 
Six Newhouse No. 4's, 
Sent newly from the Ogden stores, 
Are baited up with Funston's bait, 
And off he goes, ten days to wait. 

129 



The Forest Ranger 



With the 30-30- from his back 
He drops a coyote in his track, 
Amid the snow, the rain and hail. 
He's got to hack and clear a trail. 
The fire box he builds at night, 
The tools within are none too light. 
At one A. M. he reads his mail, 
And with grub and bed he hits the trail. 
— H,L, Thackwell 



130 



The Forest Ranger 



LEAP YEAR AT A RANGER STATION 

The life of a Ranger is not so hard, 

If only he had a feminine " pard," 

But to come in when the house is cold 

And find no one in his arms to fold, 

Is very discouraging, to say the least. 

And he condemns his life for that of a beast. 

Many of us have let the chance slip by, 

And doubtless the maidens have wondered why. 

In 19 1 2 the proposing will turn 

And we pray that their hearts will no longer yearn, 

For our Station is furnished and food prepared 

For someone with whom it can be shared. 

Although we arc away all through the day 
We'll hurry home to greet dear May, 
And when the evening work is done 
We'll take a walk by the setting sun. 
And continue the journey into the night, 
Then escort her home by the pale moonlight. 

Now " Fair Ones " do not think us bold, 

For this is Leap Year so we are told, 

And our bashful soul and busy mind 

Have kept us from acquiring one of your kind. 

Now it's hoped some maid will seize the chance 

And relieve us from this awful trance. 

— /. F. Forsythe 

131 



The Forest Ranger 



REMEMBER THE ALAMO 

Under a burning southern sun 

Bathed in the desert's glow, 

By the white sands queer and the lime cliffs drear 

Lies the land of the Alamo. 

The names of Bowie and Crockett, 
Those men of long ago, 
Are linked with the quaint historic name — 
The name of the Alamo. 

Their deeds have been told in every clime, 
Wherever, the white race go ; 
All praise to the heroes of other days. 
These men of the Alamo. 

I tell of men as stanch a breed 
As any that e'er faced foe. 
The Forest men of modern days — 
The men of the Alamo. 

Then here's to Jim and his six-gun grim 
And the rangers along the Cuevo, 
For they turned the trick in a manner slick 
These men of the Alamo. 

Then fill your glasses up to the brim 
With water as pure as snow, 
And drink to these men " behind the guns " 
And — " REMEMBER THE ALAMO." 

— a C. Hall 
133 



The Forest Ranger 



THE HOOK 

Nobody works but the hook-worm ; 

He gnaws around all day; 
Puts such an edge on our appetites 

That we eat bottle-glass and clay. 

The Super, he's got glanders; 

The Dep. with fever is shook; 
Nobody smiles at this place 

But the blamed old hook. 

The Rangers they just crawl about 

In the heat of a tropic sun ; 
The hook-worm, he works all the time — 

The son-of-a-gun ! 

When we're dead or fired, 

Put this down in your book — 
" They did their level damndest, 
Till they got the hook." 

^I.F.Eldredffe 
Florida National Forest. 



133 



The Forest Ranger 



THE SPASM FROM THE SHASTA 

The men of Shasta at Ash Creek abound, 
Doing reconnaissance on snow-shoes all the day 
round. 
Two men to the section no matter how far, 
And they complete one each day, for that's their 
rate at par. 
Sometimes the shoeing is not of the best. 
And they come in at night longing for rest. 

Hardships we have plenty and short trips are few, 
But we hired out for tough men, so I guess we'll 
pull through. 
It's surprising how simple the corners are found. 
By us MEN of the Shasta, the ones of renown. 

And the way we can guess the diameters per tree, 
And the number of logs that some day there'll be, 
Is wonderful to those who come out and see 
The men of the Shasta! 



The work it is pleasant, if the hill's not steep, 
As one sometimes may slip, and fall on his seat. 

Shoeing up some hills at times is most slow. 
But when you come down, why the way you will go ! 

Good cooking and dainties have been strangers 
to us. 
But when we hit town, we'll eat till we bust. 

On amateur batches of food we exist. 
And our stomachs right now pine pitch could digest, 

134 



The Forest Ranger 



But beyond these few trifles, we've proved with 
delight, 
That reconnaissance on snow-shoes is practical, all 
right. 
Other Forests did scoff and were against our great 
plans, 
But their ignorance should be pardoned as they 
can't understand 
What a tough little bunch our Super had on hand, 
The men of the Shasta! 



133 



The Forest Ranger 



A QUIVER FROM THE TAHOE 

The depth of snow on Shasta's hills 

In Shasta's men great fear instills; 
When out they go to count the trees, 

They take with them their twelve foot skis, 
Or lacking skill with these to tread. 

They get the humble webs instead. 
Treading hard, a square a day, 

They scale the trees upon their way, 
And out through all the District wide 

They scatter broad their smiles of pride. 
Say they've done what ne'er 'd been planned 

On any Forest in this wide land. 
Within a rod they pace a mile 

And find all corners, and then they smile! 
With D. B. H. and logs per tree. 

They get the volume one, two, three. 
Faint and worn, with hunger scant 

Up those hills they have to pant; 
Their grub's no good — they gladly dine 

On such poor fare as bad pitch pine, 
" Those men of the Shasta." 

But further south they manage to do 

Without the aid of ski or shoe ; 
With cowhide boot our Tahoe treads 

O'er snow that Shasta fears and dreads; 
Cold feet at night are not the kind, 

On other forests you often find. 
136 



The Forest Ranger 



We count the seedlings, we caliper brush, 

Correct the geology in all the slush, 
We see each sapling covered with snow. 

And carefully figure how fast 'twill grow. 
We examine the soil, and number the stock 

That will feed and fatten on each tract o' rock. 
Our cooking's the best, you'll understand, 

For each of our boys is a dextrous hand 
At all the things, from H — 1 to Heaven 

Found in our Bible, Page 27 — 
The men of the Tahoe. 



137 



The Forest Ranker 



A MUSING FROM THE ANGELES 

The growth of chaparral on Angeles hills 

A loss of religion in our men instils. 
When off he goes — unfortunate gink — 

With never a drop (of water) to drink. 
For what cares he for hill or glade! 

John Jones' homestead must be surveyed. 
No matter if that homestead lies, 

Deeply buried from human eyes 
On trackless waste of desert dim, 

Or stands on end, a hillside grim. 
His back grows stiff, his knees grow lame, 

But the Angeles Ranger sure is game; 
And he sings to himself as he grubs along 

The words of that old familiar song: 
" Every day'U be Sunday, by and by." 

That Man on The Angeles. 

And the early dawn of the coming day 

Will find him up and far away, 
With mattocks, picks and dinner pail; 

A " Cholo " crew; an impassable trail 
And dynamite, two hundred pound 

With which to move this 'dobe ground ; 
And a mercy 'tis, six times in seven 

That he isn't blown to — well, to Heaven. 
Or circled by crates of eucalypts 

His strength expended in digging pits; 

138 



The Forest Ranger 



For the Angeles Forest needs more trees 
To sway in the Heavenly southern breeze. 

So he wields his mattock 'gainst earth and stone, 
Whistling meanwhile in an undertone : 

" Every little movement has a meaning all its own " ; 
That weary man on the Angeles. 

But at night he sits in his cabin door 

And watches the kidlets play on the floor. 
For the Angeles Ranger's too wise a man 

To live on the Shasta-Tahoe plan; 
And long ago he annexed for life 

An excellent cook as his wedded wife. 
He scents the coming of good things to eat 

Through the open door of the kitchen neat. 
And he lifts his eyes to skyline dim 

Where snow-capped peaks seem to frown at him ; 
And he thinks with joy as he goes to dine: 

** No snow-shoes or skis for me and mine, 
With any other man under Heaven's dome 

I wouldn't change places ; * There's no place like 
home,* 

If that home be on The Angeles! " 



139 



The Forest Ranger 



THE BRANDING OF THE FORESTS 

(On July I, 1908, most of the National Forests were given 
new names.) 

Come and listen to my story, all ye Forest Service 

men: 
Once the Forester was sitting in his spacious, lofty 

den. 
And he wiped his sweating forehead as he grabbed 

his stubby pen. 
And he swore by all things sacred that he'd name 

'em, there and then. 

So he punched a handy button and the messengers 

they came. 
Like a bunch of baseball rooters, when the umpire 

hollers '' Game." 
And he sent this word to each one of his tried and 

trusty lads: 
" This day we'll have a christening; come and make 

believe you're dads." 
" Make 'em short, and make 'em simple," was the 

edict of the Chief. 
" Chop 'em down to small dimensions, like a goat's 

tail — short and brief." 
" No two deckers — no sky scrapers. One word 

only, nothing more." 
And the workers murmured gently, whispered low 

— and softly swore. 

So they gathered in that aerie where the Chieftain 

sits in state. 
And they puzzled, and they foozled, and each 

scratched his aching pate. 
140 



The Forest Ranger 



And they cut 'em, and they slashed 'em, and they 

changed those names about. 
Oh, they placed them endways — sideways, and they 

turned them inside out. 

They hunted through the legends of the heroes — 

young and old. 
They delved into the records of explorers brave and 

bold. 
They searched for names of Indians, and of patriots 

so great, 
And they studied o'er the doings of the big men of 

the state. 

So, after w^eks of planning, and of scheming deep 
and dark, 

That went back almost into the days of Noah's Ark, 

They got those forests branded (sure they burned 
'em good and deep) 

And the christening was over — then the boys be- 
gan to weep. 

Quoth a " Super " from the Northwest, " 'Tis in- 
deed a bitter pill, 

When these people on my Forest ask me, * Who was 
Bonneville?'" 

To be forced to own up, honest, " You can search 
me — don't ask me, 

Mebbe he's from o'er the ocean, from the wilds of 
gay * Paree.' " 

Oh, they took " Ekalaka," " Long Pine," " Slim 

Buttes," and " Short Pine " too, 
And they bunched them up with " Cave Hills," then 

they named the whole thing " Sioux." 
141 



The Forest Ranker 



And "Tillamook" and " Umpqua," (names that 

almost broke your jaw) 
Why, they've hitched 'cm up together under sibilant 

" Siuslaw." 

From the far Blue Mountain region came a query 
hushed and low : 

"Which of the Whitmans is it? For I'm just 
obliged to know." 

Here's a man who wants a permit for to pasture 
Baalam's ass, 

But he swears he's 'feercd to graze him upon Whit- 
man's " Leaves of Grass." 

Then from the peaks of Idaho there came a fearful 

yell. 
You used to call it " Koo-ten-ai," but now 'tis " Pen 

d' Oreille." 
" Hold on a bit — perhaps you're wrong," a ranger 

whispered slyly, 
" 'Tis Irish, sure — a good name; they call it plain 

* O'Reilly.' " 

And so it goes all o*er the West, and even with the 

ladies, 
This christening job has mixed things up and just 

raised merry Hades. 
So take your time, and learn the list, or else you'll 

lose your standing. 
And live to cuss the fatal day that saw this forest 

branding. 

— mil a Barnes 
14a 



The Forest Ranger 



RANGER SONG FOR THE NORTH 
SIERRA RESERVE 1 

(Tune "On the Road to Mandalay.") 

There's a lofty range of mountains from Spokane to 
Mexico, 

On whose slopes the dark pine forests link the foot- 
hills to the snow, 

And these forests great are gathered into many a 
fine reserve, 

Here's to ours — the North Sierra — she's the queen 
we Rangers serve. 

Chorus. 

North Sierra, she's our pride; 

In her service we abide; 

For her pines and oaks and cedars many a 

rocky mile we ride. 
Fighting fires by night is play, 
As for mixing sheep, it's gay. 
Since 'tis for our North Sierra 
That we love more every day. 

Oh, the sugar pines hold up the sky and keep our 
stars in place; 

" Joe Crane's Ramrod " is the tree that Mars de- 
pends on for a base; 

Great sequoias in the Nelder Grove to Dinkey seem 
to say, 

** Dinkey, pass the word to Converse, ' Don't you 
drop the Milky Way.' " 

^ Now called Sierra National Forest. 
143 



The Forest Ranger 



You should look into our office on a stormy winter 

day 
See our cattle ranger tackle all the figures in his 

way, 
See our Technical Assistant making maps to beat 

the band, 
Hear the Boss dictating letters, with Clerk Springer 

close at hand. 
Tyler'll mark the bounds this summer of each priv- 
ate piece of land ; 
Dehl can blast a trail that's smooth enough to suit 

a big brass band; 
Mai McLeod will make the tourists in Kings River 

toe the mark; 
While beyond the snow-capped summits Britten 

notes each sheep-dog's bark. 
Here's to those with us no longer — Langille, lost 

in Oregon ; 
Hogue and Ellis, Bigelow, Mainwaring — what 

gallant spurs they've won. 
Here's to those who thread the canyons all along 

Sierra's crest, 
Taylor, Noddin, Russell, Wofford, Gardner, Rea, 

and all the rest. 
Here's to those who lead us, captains in a mighty 

service, they, 
Earnest, loving helpers wise to plan and choose our 

climbing way. 
Here's to Allen, the Inspector, and all men from 

Washington ; 
To our Great Chief, Gilford Pinchot — he and For- 
estry are one. — Charles H. Shinn 
144 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FIRE GUARD ON PATROL 

(With apologies to Danny Deevcr.) 

" What are the bloomin* boxes ^ for? " said the Fire 

Guard on patrol, 
" To drop a note, to drop a note," the Forest Ran- 
ger said. 
" What makes them look so big, so big? " said the 

Fire Guard on patrol. 
" So they can hold a bushel o' notes," the Forest 

Ranger said. 
" For you've got to ride around, around, a-lookin' 

for fires each day, 
You've sure got to hump yourself, if you want to 

draw the pay. 
This ain't no foolish outin' job, so I heard the Super 

say, 
For you've got to visit the mail box every morning." 

" What makes the country look so blue? " said the 

Fire Guard on patrol. 
" It's forest smoke, it's forest smoke," the Forest 

User said. 
" What makes the Rangers ride so hard ? " said the 

Fire Guard on patrol, 
" To reach a fire, to reach a fire," the Forest User 

said. 

1 Boxes placed on fire patrol routes at which guards 
" check in " by leaving a note on fire conditions for the 
ranger. 



The Forest Ranger 



" They're fightin' forest fires, they're whippin' 'em 

around ; 
They're fightin' 'em like devils, they're beatin' *cm 

to the ground, 
And they'll put you through your paces if they catch 

you loafin' 'round, 
For you've got to visit the mail box every morning." 

" What's that so black against the sun ? " said the 
Fire Guard on patrol. 

" It's forest fires, you bloomin' it," the Forest Ran- 
ger said. 

"What's that that crackles overhead?" said the 
Fire Guard on patrol. 

" It's fallin' trees, it's fallin' trees," the Forest Ran- 
ger said. 

" For the Forest's goin' up in smoke, you can sec it 
fade away. 

We're all goin' to jack our jobs, for we don't need 
the pay — 

Oh, the Fire Guards are shakin', and they'll get 
their time today, 

For they didn't visit the mail box every morning." 



146 



The Forest Ranger 



ECONOMY 

It started with the President, 

A year or two ago, 
He said we must economize, 

To really make a show. 

He appointed a committee, 

To see where to begin. 
For Uncle Sam's in poverty. 

He really needs the tin. 

His reputation in the past. 
Around the country went. 

" A dollar spent to save ten cents " 
Was money quite well spent. 

But now a change is taking place, 

Expenses get the knife. 
Economy, economy. 

Is the watchword of our life. 

The word was handed down by Taft, 
To all his right hand men. 

And now it's come to you and me. 
And all who push a pen. 

A meeting in El Paso, 

To talk economy, 
Was attended by the great Moguls, 

Of District Number Three. 
147 



The Forest Ranger 



Now every one has had his say, 
And gone back to the pines, 

We wonder where we'll get our pay 
Without digging in the mines. 

But coming back to serious thought. 

And the toils of our daily grind, 
Efficiency, efficiency. 

Is the word to be kept in mind. 

— Charles H. Jennings. 
Snowflake, Ariz., 191 1. 



I4« 



The Forest Ranger 



FIRES 

The District Forester Speaks: 

I wish I were out with the fellows — 

Just my luck to be stuck here in town ; 
But I've got to sit tight when I'd heap rather fight 

To help keep these brush blazes down. 
Fm sick of this end of the business, — 

The ring of the querulous phone, 
The telegrams, too, of flames breaking anew 

While I have to stand it alone, 

And I'll own 

It's hell to be watching alone. 

There's Bill — ^he's gone out with the pack traiii, 

And Jim — he's to rustle the grub 
For the men on the line, and he's going it fine 

While I'm sitting here like a dub; 
The fellows are working like demons, 

They're scorched and they're blistered — no less, 
While I stay and chafe and am damnably safe 

When I'd like to mix up in the mess; 

Well, I guess! 

That the buck-brush ablaze is a mess! 

In a swivel chair — well, it's the limit, 
With the rest in the thick of the fight 
With their lungs all a-choke with the dust and the 
smoke. 
And sweat in their eyes day and night ; 
149 



The Forest Ranger 



But I've got to look out for the labor — 
This calling for troops makes me sick ; 
There's none seems to know if the troops ought to 

, go; 
Neither begging nor blarney nor kick 
Brings 'em quick, 
So it's no use to blarney or kick. 

So here I am pacing the office, 

And " watchfully waiting " returns 
From lookouts for days all enveloped in haze 

Where half of a mountainside burns ; 
I've drawn in my men to where danger 

Is worst where dry desert winds go, 
And I'll be in a hole if my extra patrol 

Can't hold in the face of a blow; 

And I know 

They can't hold in front of a blow. 

I'm afraid there will be a hitch somewhere, 

There's no telling where it will be. 
But I'd rather be found right there on the ground — 

Right out there to think, act, and see ! 
I won't care for second-hand versions 

Of how the disaster befell. 
But I'll choose all the brunt of the scrap at the 
front. 

Instead of this telephone bell; 

And it's hell, 

To depend on this telephone bell! 
150 



The Forest Ranger 



Out there are my Supers and Rangers, 

With lumberjacks, men from the mills, 
From fields and from slums, hoboes, tie hacks, and 
bums, 
And ranchers who know all the hills ; 
While I'm here with no smoke in my nostrils, 

I am here with no scorch on my cheek. 
When I'd rather be there with singed eye-brows and 
hair 
Than stuck in here week after week. 
Hear me speak I 
rU be bughouse inside of a week! 

— Br is tow Adams 



iSi 



The Forest Ranger 



THE APACHE RECESSIONAL 
1910 

(Apologies to Kipling.) 
God of the Forests, known of old, 
Lord of our far-flung forest line — 
Beneath whose awful hand we hold 
Dominion over fir and pine — 
Lord God of Forests, bid us not tire, 
Lest we forget — the Bear Wallow Fire. 
The fighting and the smoking dies — 
The Captain and his troops return — 
Still stands Thine ancient timbered aisles, 
Once forest green, now smoking burn. 
Lord God of Forests, bid us not tire, 
Lest we forget — the Bear Wallow Fire. 
Far-called our Rangers ride away — 
On Grey Bull Peak slow sinks the fire — 
Lo, all our fighters of yesterday 
Are now no longer worth their hire. 
Judge of the Forests, bid us not tire, 
Lest we forget — the Bear Valley Fire. 
If drunk with sight of power we loose 
Green guards that hold not fire in awe — 
Such riding as the cowmen use 
On Strayhorse Creek or Maley Draw — 
Lord God of Forests, bid us not tire, 
Lest we forget — the Baldy Fire. 
For Ranger hearts that put their trust 
In asphalt rake and iron shard — 
The Rangers fight as fight they must, 
And fighting call not every guard — 
For heavy rains and heavier snows 
Send down upon this Forest, Lord. 

— /.Z). (?. 
15a 



The Forest Ranger 



A ROLLING STONE 

(Apologies to R. W. Service.) 

There's murder in the heart of me, 

I've skinned my shins and knees; 

The chiggers are a part of me, 

My hide is full of fleas ; 

My youth and strength I'm squandering, 

A ragged wreck am I, 

And I must keep a-wandering 

Until the day I die. 

I was once, I declare, on Central Park West, 

In a comfortable modern cave; 
I have known, I will swear, in the last month's span, 

The sweat and fret of a slave. 
I have pitched my tent with no prosy plan 

But to range and change at the will 
And whim of the head reconnaissance man. 

And to seek adventure's thrill. 

Carefree to be, as a bird that sings ; 

To go on my own sweet way; 
To reck not at all what may befall, 

But to live and return each day; 
To scorn all hurt and to view the dirt 

With the curious eyes of a child. 
From the canyon deep to the hillside steep. 

From Dughill to the heart of the wild. 
153 



The Forest Ranger 



From the patch of L ^ to the R ^ and S,^ 
From the vast to the greatly small, 

For I know that the work for good is planned, 
And I've got to map it all. 

To map it all to be given away 
To the nester's calloused hand, 

I map what I see, but " our policy," 

1 never can understand. 

And every night shall bring to me 

The bugs my rest to spoil ; 

Each morn the cook will sing to me 

It's time to rise and toil; 

And every throbbing pain of me 

Protests against that call. 

O body, heart and brain of me, 

Who planned this job at all? 

— Harry Lawson 
Ozark Land Classification — 1913. 

1 L — Fine sandy loam. 

2 RS — Rocky and steep. 



154 



The Forest Ranger 



KLAMATH BUG SONG 
1911-12 

(Tunc: Casey Jones.) 

Come all ye people if you want to hear 

The story of the bug crew in the Creek called Clear, 

Of a terrible country and a long career 

For the Rangers and Bug Men far and near. 

Chorus : 

We chopped *em all down, 

You can't find a beetle; 

We bucked 'em all up, 

Can't find a bug ; 

We burnt 'em up clean. 

Can't find a beetle; 

Oh you can't find a beetle on the Big Humbug. 

We moved our camp upon St. Patrick's Day 
With our horses grunting, full of oats and hay. 
We put up our tents by the candle ray. 
And we ate our supper when the dawn was gray. 

Chorus: 

Francis McCarthy was our little cook, 

And Conover he took notes in his little book. 

While Perry Hill sang like a crazy crook 

About the moon and the Irish and the bugs he took. 

Chorus : 

155 



The Forest Ranger 



We built a fire in the middle of the tent, 
She ripped and roared and away she went; 
I tell you fellows that it ain't no joke 
When your bloomin' old tent gets full of smoke. 

Chorus : 

Now all ye people when ye spot a bug, 
No matter if our crew is housed up snug. 
Just tell us about it and we'll paste his mug. 
And we'll join in the chorus while his grave is dug. 

Chorus : 

s —S.JV. Allen 



156 



The Forest Ranger 



RECEIPT FOR A RANGER 

First get a big kettle and a fire that's hot, 
And when everything's ready throw into the pot, 
A doctor, a miner, of lawyers a few, 
At least one sheep herder and a cow boy or two. 
Next add a surveyor, and right after that, 
A man w^th horse sense, and a good diplomat. 
At least one stone mason ; then give it a stir. 
And add to the mess one good carpenter. 

A man that knows trees, and don't leave from the 

list 
A telephone man and a fair botanist. 
The next one that's added must be there, that's a 

cinch. 
It's the man that will stay when it comes to a pinch. 
Add a man that will work, and not stand round and 

roar. 
Who can do ten thousand things and then just a 

few more. 
Now boil it up well and skim off the scum — 
And a Ranger you'll find in the residuum. 

— J. B. Cammann 



157 



The Forest Ranker 



FOUR CENTS TO THE LICK 

I'm ringing up Uncle Sam's till, by gad, 
With a hammer and an eight foot stick, 
And twelve stamps to the cord of wood 
Is four cents to the lick. 

A hammer beats a hatchet. 

And a dry pole beats a tape. 

But it's right down plumb monotonous. 

In any kind of shape. 

The ends don^t stick out even. 
And the ricks is half fell down ; 
It's snowin' and my feet are cold — 
There's brush stuck all around. 

I'd rather have a district, 
With a shanty of my own, 
And beat a cayuse all around, 
And sometimes be alone. 

This everlasting bing, bang, bung. 
At four cents to the lick, 
While profitable to Uncle Sam, 
Has blamed near made me sick. 

When I'm the high-brow super, 
Then I won't give a damn, 
I'll tell the boys " Put on more stamps; 
It's for your Uncle Sam." 

158 



The Forest Ranger 



This country's far too healthy, 
A man can't say he's sick — 
It's pretty plumb monotonous — 
But it's four cents to the lick! 

— P. S. Lovejoy 



159 



The Forest Ranger 



HIS WISDOM 

He didn't know how to handle a rod, nor how to 

attach a fly; 
He didn't know how to catch a trout in the brook 

that went flowing by; 
When he wounded a buck he didn't know whether 

to run or stay and fight, 
And he didn't know how to make a temporary camp 

at night. 

He didn't know how to tell the time by looking at 

the sun; 
He didn't know how to take the shells out of a 

loaded gun; 
He got so turned around he didn't know what 

course to take, 
And he didn't know what to do when he was bitten 

by a snake. 

He didn't know what it was once when he handled 
poison oak ; 

He didn't know how to build a fire, nor how to con- 
ceal its smoke; 

But he was wise — of that fact there can't be the 
slightest doubt. 

When he broke camp he knew enough to put the 
fire out ! 

— Howard C. Kegley 



i6o 



The Forest Ranger 



PLANTING RHYMES 

Out in the sandhills, day after day, we go 
And plant little bull pines row beside row. 

Two with the spades and one with a pail, 
We go working along leaving trees for a trail. 

Carrying the bucket we take turn about ; 
To spade all the time soon wears a man out. 

When with noon comes out little William H. Mast, 
Brings out our dinner and we take our repast. 

While we munch our dry bread and chew our bum 

meat, 
We get mad and throw it all down at our feet. 

We swear on our honor that we'll pull up our pegs 
If they don't feed us on better than hard boiled eggs. 

Then goodbye to the sandhills, goodbye old seedbeds, 
Goodbye, tree planters, and the rest of the tow- 
heads. 

Halsey, Nebr., 1907. 



i6t 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FELLOW THAT DROPT THE 
MATCH 

Moast anny book on woodcraft has a hoal lot on 
how to bild a camp fire, but no one of them tells 
how to putt it owt when bilt. This is the mane 
thing to knoe, & for lack of knoUidge on this subjict 
our mity forrists dw^indel every yere & git littler 
evry time they dwindel. Enny fool with a match 
can destroy moar fust class rale timber in half a day 
than the Yoonited States Forrist Commishun can 
proppygate in awl summer. As the poit trooly sais : 

" He dropt the match when he lit his seegar 

& it fell in a buntch of grass. 
& then he went on to shute his bar 

In the distunt mountain pass; 
& a blaze shot uppard, the wind it riz, 
k the fire spred awl over the patch, 
& the melted pants button they found was his — 

The fellow that dropt the match." 

But retribootion don't always git the rite party 
— whitch is a shaim. If things was diffrunt they 
woodent be the saim. No troo harted spoartsman 
begrudges a few akers of skrub timber being burnt 
off, so long as it dries the jooce out of sum sap-hed 
with his pokit full of matches. 



162 



The Forest Ranger 



THE FOREST PLEADERS 

(Arbor Day Recitation for Six Pupils.) 
First Pupil {carrying evergreen branch) : 
I AM THE Forest. 

I clothe this western land 
With beauty, and on every hand 
You turn to me in daily need. 
Your best friend I have alw^ays stood ; 
You could not live not using wood. 
For your protection now I plead. 
Nor do I bid you take my word ; 
Let these my witnesses be heard. 

Second Pupil {carrying pail of water) : 
I AM the Stream. 

From my woodland springs 
To river mouth, where the white gull wings 
Over the ships from the ends of the earth, 
I flow to your homes and mills and fields 
And carry the freight that the harvest yields, 
But shady forests gave me birth. 

Third Pupil {carrying pet animal) : 
I am the Wild Things. 
I speak for graceful deer 
And flashing trout in brook pools clear, 

For singing birds and squirrels pert, 
And all the wearers of feather and fur. 
What should we do if no forests were 
To shelter us from fear and hurt ? 

Fourth Pupil {carrying ax) : 
I AM Industry. 

To me the forest brings 

163 



The Forest Ranger 



Reward for labor and all things 

That money buys, for in this State 
Over half our wage-earners' pay 
Comes from lumbering in some way. 
The fate of forests is my fate. 

Fifth Pupil (carrying fishing rod) : 
I AM Pleasure. 

Happy vacation days, 
Camping, hunting, and all the ways 
Of nature in her gladdest moods, 
The forest holds for girls and boys 
Who love outdoors and wholesome joys — 
There is no playground like the woods. 

Sixth Pupil {strikes match and holds it burning) : 
I AM THE Future. 

Shall all these pass away? 
Must we look forward to a day 

Of fire-charred, lifeless, streamlcss slopes 
Where thoughtless match or unwatched brand 
From man's ungrateful, careless hand 
Has destroyed his own children's hopes? 

All (Future blows match out, watches as he 
drops itj then tramps it out) : 
Fire Is Our Enemy. 
Won't you help us then ? 
Learn yourselves, and teach all men, 

This, the lesson all must learn, 
Put out the campfire and the match ; 
Careful with slash and clearing-patch; 
Leave no fires in the woods to burn. 

-^E.T.JUen 

164 



The Forest Ranger 



PROSPECTIN' 

Up the mountin' and thro' the burn 

We climbed, an' mongst the brush and fern, 

An ole man druve his maddox home, 

An' slapped a tree in the gapin' loam. 

" Mornin', father, what's the game? " 

" Plantin' trees," the answer came. 

" You don't 'spect to live to see 

The standin' timber, do ye, say ? " 

He looked, reflectin', down the hill ; 

" Wal, no, but, thunder! some un will." 

— /. R, Simmons 



163 



The Forest Ranger 



EXTRACT FROM AN OLD-TIME DIARY 
OF AN OLD-TIME FOREST RANGER 

Crooked Creek, Arizonie, 
August 15, 1906. 
Field Notes of Survy 

Home sted clame of Bud Brown, Bonefido 
squater. This survy was run and plated on a 
varyation of 9 degrez and 75 minits east of polarus 
(or some other point i fergitwhich). Wether looks 
like rane, 

This tract is situwate in un survyd terytory 
whicht when survyd wil probebly be in town ship 
82 west of Range 3 north of grene witch. 

Thar being no established corner in this vasinety 
i built a pile of stonez 4 fet high for a forrist re- 
servez monument, frum whicht a miskeete tre bears 
north 7 degrez and 76 minits east, a big mal pio 
rock bears west 27 degrez south. 

Thense i run east 20 degrez north 48 chains an set 
corner no 2 a mal pie rock set in the ground (lots of 
other rocks around but this one has blubers onit). 
frum whicht a bald faced cow with a litle calf bears 
east 22 degrez south and a big steer going the other 
way bears west 11 degrea north no other objext 
near. 

Here i back site on Corner No I and find that the 
varyation has changed, so i precede on a tru line. 

Thense irun north 10 degrez west thru oke brush 
21 chains to deep wash (here my dog got after a 
mavric bull so i quit the survy and folio my dog). 
August 16, 1906. i start wher i quit yesterday and 
at 45 chains i set corner No 3 whicht is a oke stick 
set I ft in ground, whense a oke bush bears east, 
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The Forest Ranger 



and the left hand end of a big cloud bears a little 
south of strate up, no uther objext near. 

Thense i run west lO degrez south 15 chains an 
a litle over to a high clif whicht i cant descend, so i 
role a big rock off the clif to mark my line, when a 
white tale buck jumped out of the oke brush and i 
kilt him with my sixshuter, (here i quit the survy 
an packed the mete to camp). August 18, 1906 i 
resume this line at the foot of the high clif wher 
my rock lit, i estermate the distence to be a litle un- 
der 5 chains to the top so i allow i am now 20 chains 
frum corner No 3, thense i run west 10 degrez 
south 48 chains and set corner No 4 whicht is a oke 
stik set in a dager wead, whense a smoke frum a 
forrist fier bears west 46 degrez north about 10 
miles, no uther objext near. 

Thense i run south 20 degrez east 11 chains an 
15 steps to foot of high clif i cant asend, so i shoot 
a spot on a rock on top to mark my line, i clime the 
clif at anuther place an resume my line, i estermate 
the distance to be about 5 chains a litle back of 
strate down, so i allow i am not 16 chains an 15 
steps frum corner No 4. (here Bud Brown got a 
blister on his heel an quit chaneing, so) i continue on 
a tru line 733 yards as i step to corner No i, whicht 
ort to be the place of begining, but aint, so i allow 
theres some thing out of plum an ajust my sumpas 
according, an procede about 200 hards to my left 
and tie into the corect corner, and the place of begin- 
ing, contaneing 1 60 acres be the same more or les. 
Bill Caltute, 

Forrist Ranger. 
— 7. H. Sizer 
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The Forest Ranger 



A FOREST SYMPOSIUM 

The Prelude 

To you, unknown, but of genial pen 
A " suping super " laughs his loud Amen ! 
You have me spotted mighty clear and fine — 
Those orders to a ranger might be mine. 
Now, though my verses are not meant for curt, 
Just let some ranger, used to axe and quirt, 
Sling out his facts, no matter where they hurt. 
You men we love, this sympo' isn't done. 
Chip in, you men behind the Forest Gun. 
Then let our wives, who put out fires too, 
Hit the weak places of the Service crew. 
Ah, some I know, with forest passion stirred, 
Too deep for verse or any human word. 

Followeth the poem, the first of this symposium, 
which came to a lonely Supervisor's cabin. 

The Suping Supervisor 

The Supervisor supes around, 
He supes 'most every day. 
He supes around the office 
And then he draws his pay. 
He writes the rangers, " Please do this, 
Please do it very soon ; 
And how far is it here to there? 
And how far to the moon? 
And please report on Bill Smith's claim, 
And build a barn, and see 
What is the matter with the 'phone, 
And report this back to me. 
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The Forest Ranger 



And don't forget to send this in, 

And carefully prepare 

A statement of your horse's oats 

And how he combs his hair. 

And it is most important 

That you investigate 

The grazing out on Hell Creek 

And how much grass it ate. 

And promptly on the 41st, 

A letter should be sent 

To tell me how much snow there is 

And which way it has went. 

Please don't neglect to satisfy 

All persons who apply, 

And tell them " Thank you very much ! '* 

When you are sure they lie. 

I hope I need not here repeat 

That Regulation 9 

Requires all rangers to wear clothes 

And have their badges shine. 

This time about come twenty years 

I am instructed that 

Provided it is possible 

All men must keep a cat." 

The Super supes in daytime, 

The Super supes at night. 

The Super supes, and supes and supes, 

Because it is his right. 

He has a dreamy suping time 

With no cares of expense. 

He wouldn't be a Super 

If he had a bit of sense! 



169 



The Forest Ranger 



The Suping Supervisor taketh a stub pencil and 
addeth some verses: 

The Desking Districter 

The Districter he desks around ; 
From nine A. M. till midnight past. 
He loves his circulars and files and forms ; 
He clears his flat-top desk at last. 

Hot coffee ! Then a Berkeley boat — 
A night-ow^l train, a home-plate run, 
More letters, telegrams a few — 
Another " forest day " is done. 

He writes the Supers' circulars, 
He jacks them up and takes them down; 
He thinks about their varied styles ; 
They shiver at his slightest frown. 

And eke the Supers write to him. 
Reporting half — or somewhat less ; 
He rubs his head, consults The Book, 
And cusses loud — and makes a guess. 

Poor Desking Districter, with dreams 
Of rides with rangers far and free, 
Of battles on fire-fighting lines 
With Suping Supers, two or three. 

Sometimes he whispers to himself, 
"Alas! Why should I foresteer? 
" Like the Super in the soup," he says, 
"It is a devilish game, my dear." 
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The Forest Ranger 



The Rangy Ranger 
The Ranger ranges far and wide, 

And each day finds new things to do. 
The mountains lift him like a tide, 

The forests own him through and through. 
Some men he loves, some hates, and some 

He just considers low and bum. 

The Ranger sees, the ranger knows 
More things than Supers ever guess. 

He well remembers rows on rows 
Of stupid orders, each a mess. 

But then sometimes the fault was his. 
He always shied at " routine biz." 

" Please sign your name." " Please use the 

stamps." 
" Those last sub-voucher will not go." 
Such Super letters start the cramps! 
Why can't he give a man a show? 
I rode all night; I'm out some cash — 
The whole darned Forest's gone to smash ! " 

Sometimes they send a beardless Tech, 

A newly-gathered Forest Grad! 
fVE useter mark, an' scale, an' check 

An' keep down lumber-jacks, by gad! 
fVE knew our timber, years ago, 

Before such kids began to grow. 

They give us grazin' forms and rules, 

Some mighty good, some pretty raw. 
On hens, an' hogs, an' sheep an' mules. 

They print 'em off — we make 'em law ! 
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The Forest Ranger 



We druv out Basco sheep a few; 
We cut old trails, an' used 'em, too. 

This old-time ranger, worn and gray, 
Must have his grumble — let it slide ! 

Before him his Great Forest Way 
Still climbs up to the Last Divide — 

There stops — for him ! Another takes 
His axe, and a new record makes. 



The Woman Side 

Of all the places where I've lived 
And different work I've done, 

I'd rather be a ranger's wife, — 
Because it's lots of fun. 

Of course I'm not talking of the work; 

I'm going to let that slide. 
It's of the good times that I speak; 

It's just the woman's side. 

The people are so sociable. 
They want you just to feel 

That you're the same as one of them. 
Their welcome is so real ! 

And then there's something that binds 
And makes us love each other. 

It's something that we can't explain ; 
It's like the love of mother. 
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The Forest Ranger 



And then you have your saddle horse, 

And lots of time for spins 
Down to the post-office for the mail, 

Or up to Mrs. Shinn's. 

And then there's summer evenings 

Of which we never tire. 
We roll great logs of pitch together 

And have a big bon-fire. 

We sit and tell good stories, 
And gaze at the tall pine trees ; 

We wonder at their beauty, 

And the soft, cool, summer breeze 

Comes floating down the meadow 

That is so green and fair, 
And filled with rich wild flowers 

That grow so gorgeous there. 

But then there's winter evenings 

When frost and fallen snow 
Stay piled upon the hillsides 

And in the valleys, too. 

It's then we have our parties, 

We go, and have such fun 
Before one good time's ended 

There's something else begun. 

— By a Ranger s Wife 

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The Forest Ranger 



The Last Word 

There comes a breath as of storm and flame 
Unshapen, speechless, not writ with pen, — 
The sound of a Nation seizing the fact 
Of rangers, and supers and district men 
All welded together in one firm pact 
To Tackle the Issues and Play the Game. 

At last the Harvest our years have sown, 
At last the ending of ancient wrong. 

As the People take the People's Own 
With civic conscience aroused and strong. 

The finer types of men with a soul — 
Pinchots and Lincolns — in full control, 

Till, once more leading the human race, 

The Old-time REPUBLIC takes its place. 



174 



